


Special Relationship

by sokovianaccords (eurogirl)



Series: International Relations [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Politics, Assassination Attempt(s), Bosnian War, Dancing, F/M, First Meetings, Fondue, International Institutions, International Relations, NATO summit, Olympics, President Steve Rogers, Prime Minister Peggy Carter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6019618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurogirl/pseuds/sokovianaccords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foreign affairs can be tricky...in all senses of the phrase.</p><p>(aka Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter navigate life, love, and international politics as best they can)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Assassination Attempt

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my [Steggy AU](http://lifeispersonal.tumblr.com/tagged/special-relationship) on tumblr  
> Enjoy!

Peggy Carter had been injured before. Many times, actually. MI-6 does not offer safety as one of its recruitment incentives, even though the hazard pay was a perk of choosing such a dangerous profession. During her employment with MI-6, Peggy had been stabbed twice, impaled once, almost hanged once, tortured twice, and shot once. After she left MI-6 to run for government office, she thought that her days of being injured on the job were over. She missed her adrenaline-filled days as a covert operative, but public office carried its own set of excitements and challenges minus the near-death experiences.

Or so she thought.

Peggy was in the middle of a press conference detailing the results of the most recent peace talks with Russia when she saw a glint in a nearby window. She fell silent, focusing all her attention on attempting to find what had caught her eye, but before she could identify the source, she heard a loud pop, followed by a heavy force slamming into her shoulder, knocking her backwards. Pain erupted in her right shoulder as she fell to the ground, security forces tackling her to the ground a moment too late. She heard their screams in her ear as they tried to locate the shooter, but Peggy couldn’t quite get the words out to share what she had seen. Her vision began to gray around the edges as her shoulder throbbed, and two thoughts flew through her head just as she lost consciousness. First, _This hurts just as much as I remember_ , and the second, _Steve is going to be quite upset with me when I wake up_.

When Peggy regained consciousness, she noticed three things. One, there was an incessant beeping noise, and it was quite irritating. Two, her shoulder twinged painfully with every breath she took. And three, her hand was very warm, a comforting touch, almost as if someone was trying to pull her toward wakefulness. The light was bright, and her eyelids were heavy, but Peggy woke up by sheer force of will.

She was in a hospital room, stark and white, soft music playing from a phone in the corner. Glenn Miller, if she was hearing right. Peggy smiled, turning her head to see Steve sitting in the chair next to her bed, his hand wrapped tightly around hers. His head was tilted back and his mouth was wide open, snoring softly as he slept in the chair. Peggy squeezed his hand as hard as she could—which wasn’t much, meaning she was probably on excellent pain medication—and called softly, “Steve. Wake up.” When he didn’t respond, she repeated his name, with a little more force.

Steve snorted himself awake, looking around with slumber still in his eyes. Peggy chucked softly, and Steve’s gaze instantly locked on her, all traces of sleep gone.

“Hello, darling,” she said warmly, squeezing his hand again. Steve reached over and smoothed her hair away from her forehead, barely smiling, worry clouding his expression. Peggy frowned, not liking the lines marring Steve’s forehead. She reached out to smooth them away, but pain shot through her shoulder, so she leaned back and pulled him closer instead.

He followed her lead as she pulled him on the bed. It took a little maneuvering, but they ended up with Peggy half on top of Steve, her injured shoulder carefully supported by pillows.

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m up here with you?”

Peggy leveled him with a flat look. “You are the President of the United States, Steven. What are they going to _do_ , really?”

Steve still looked concerned, but he was smiling sheepishly. “You’ve been asleep for a day and a half, Peg. You haven’t seen the nurses. They’re scary, even to the President.”

Peggy rolled her eyes even as she settled closer. “Tell me, _President_ _Rogers_ , “she said, placing special emphasis on his title, “how does the leader of one of the most powerful countries in the world manage to drop everything in his busy schedule to come visit his secret girlfriend in the hospital?”

“Well, _Prime Minister Carter_ , I thought I would pull a Putin,” he replied sarcastically, his voice muffled by her hair. “Drop off the face of the earth for a few days and then reappear like nothing—Ow!” Steve captured Peggy’s hand in his. “The pinch wasn’t necessary, thank you. I was tapped in to give the press conference about the peace talks, and as part of that, I came over to Europe to review the troops and meet with Andreyev about better security for all things related to the talks going forward.”

“What do we know about the shooter?” Peggy asked, eager to catch up on what she had missed while she was unconscious. She felt Steve tense, and she gave a frustrated huff. “I have a hole in my shoulder, Steve. It’s not like I’m going after them myself. I’d just like to know what happened.”

“The shooter’s name, or at least the one she goes by, is Dottie Underwood. She is believed to be a Russian national trained as a sleeper agent for her organization, the Red Room. They’re left over from the time of the USSR and set on returning Russia to the glory it had during the Cold War, at least according to MI-6. They view the talks as a threat, especially since Andreyev has shown he is interested in peace, which they believe will weaken Russia further. MI-5 believes she is still in country, but they are coordinating with MI-6 and Europol to make sure she’s apprehended so that we can gain knowledge of the Red Room’s operations and future plans.”

“How do you know what 5 and 6 are doing, Steve? You’re the leader of a foreign government. You shouldn’t know any operational details!”

“I have a high-level source,” Steve said cheekily. Peggy could hear the smug grin in his voice.

“Who?” Peggy snapped. Before Steve could reply, though, Peggy heaved a sigh. “Coulson.”

“I may have promised him a signed, limited edition ‘Captain America’ campaign poster in exchange for some intel.”

“Some Cabinet Secretary he is. Can’t keep a bloody secret,” she groused, muttering about fanboys and traitors.

“Aw, c’mon Peg, you know I’m his favorite. It isn’t personal,” he said, chuckling. Peggy tried to elbow him in the stomach, but her shoulder twinged painfully, and she groaned inadvertently. Steve reacted instantly, re-situating so that she would be more comfortable while still being able to injure him, since he knew she expressed the majority of her thoughts with her elbows.

“Stop wiggling, Peggy. You can elbow me all you want once you’re healed. You’re only going to pull your stitches, and I won’t be able to visit if you injure yourself from trying to hurt me. I have Secret Service, remember?”

“Oh please,” Peggy scoffed.

“Phil obviously didn’t tell me much, just enough for me to debrief you once you woke up. He knew you’d want to know.” Peggy was slightly mollified, and she leaned back into his embrace once more, closing her eyes and enjoying his warmth.

The hospital room was quiet for a long moment, the music and machines barely discernible. Steve let loose a long sigh, tickling Peggy’s ear, before whispering, “You really scared me, Peg.”

Peggy patted his hand comfortingly. “I’ve had worse, darling. But if it makes you feel better, I don’t plan on it happening again.”

“It does make me feel better,” Steve murmured, nibbling lightly on her ear. Peggy moaned softly, tilting her head to give him better access.

“I—,” Peggy’s voice was a little huskier than it had been a moment before, which was entirely Steve’s fault, since he had moved down to the point where her neck met her shoulder. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I think I’ll have a new scar, right next to the one you seem to like so much. Next time you visit, I’ll show it to you?”

Steve hummed his approval into her neck, and Peggy smiled in response. She leaned back even further, melting into his chest, and Steve pulled her even tighter into the circle of his arms. Their breathing slowly fell into sync as they sat together in the hospital bed. They both had responsibilities that waited for them. The world still spun on, not even stopping for an attempted assassination, but for the moment they were not President Rogers and Prime Minister Carter, but Steve and Peggy, quietly celebrating another day alive, together.


	2. First Meeting(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the rest of the AU at thesokovianaccords.tumblr.com/tagged/special-relationship. (I cannot for the life of me get the link to work in AO3, so we will just do it this way.) Happy reading!

_Mostar, Bosnia (1995)_

Her contact was late. So late that Peggy was beginning to think she wasn’t coming at all, which made her very uneasy. All of her instincts had warned her against this meeting—the open location, lack of flexibility, even the tone of her contact’s voice when they scheduled the meeting—and now she was being proved right. She looked at her watch again, debating whether to wait another minute for the important intel or to call it a bust and try to get it another way.

As she was debating with herself, Peggy felt a presence come up beside her. She tensed up—the person was clearly larger than her, but they made no move to grab her or to pull a weapon. Instead, she heard a quiet sigh as the leaned on the bridge and looked out at the river.

Peggy turned slightly, and her eyes widened involuntarily. The newcomer was over six feet tall, with blonde hair and the _strongest_ jawline she had probably ever seen. Peggy was a professional, so she turned back to the river slowly and casually, but she saw the small grin on his face out of the corner of her eye.

They stood in silence for another moment, the rushing water masking the creak of the cables as people walked across the bridge behind them.

“The bridge stood for over four hundred years,” the man said with a wistful note in his voice. “Four hundred years of history destroyed because of a war.”

Peggy hummed thoughtfully. “An act of killing memory, as it were. Destroying all evidence of previous peace.”

The man turned to her, surprised, as if he hadn’t been expecting any sort of response. “Exactly.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. Nor the last, I imagine.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, I think you’re right.” He stepped closer and held out his hand. “Steve.”

Peggy placed her hand carefully in his. “Margaret. Nice to meet you.”

====

“So are you a journalist?” Steve jumped, almost spilling his coffee all over the table.

“Sorry?” Steve asked, wiping up a few errant drops, blushing deeply. Peggy’s lips quirked into the beginnings of a smile as she repeated the question.

“No, I’m not a journalist,” Steve replied, tilting his head. “Why?”

“Well, you have an American accent, but you’re not in uniform. The war is over, but still, not many tourists, especially in this part of the country. I suppose you could be an aid worker, but you were focused on the story of the bridge, so I thought journalist was a bit more likely.”

Steve smiled a little bashfully. “I’m a soldier, actually. I’m not in uniform because I’m on leave today, and I wanted to explore the city without drawing too much attention.”

Peggy nodded thoughtfully. “So why the bridge?”

“I like art,” Steve replied with a shrug. “And I hate to see any art destroyed, especially as a tool of war.” He took a sip of coffee, spluttering slightly at the still too-hot beverage. “So what about you? What brings you to Mostar?” he asked, trying to pretend he had not just burnt his tongue.

Peggy grinned at his self-conscious glance and decided to take pity on him. She gave a sigh and looked out the window of the café for a moment. “I’m in diplomatic security, which is much less exciting than it sounds, I’m afraid,” she replied, turning back to see a flushed face, a grateful smile, and a much more dignified sip of coffee. She smiled into her own cup of tea as he eyed her carefully.

“How did you get into that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, not at all,” Peggy said airily, her cover well-rehearsed. “Joined the military right out of university, and from there I was recruited by the Diplomatic Security Service.”

Steve nodded. “You carry yourself like you served. That’s why I was curious.”

“How about you, soldier? How did you end up in the military?”

Steve shrugged. “Joined the army in ’89, during the hostage crisis. I was never a fan of bullies, and the Army seemed to be the place where I could stop them, only on a much larger scale than my neighborhood in Brooklyn. My unit got stationed here as part of the NATO forces just after the agreement was signed. About a week ago, actually.”

Peggy watched Steve as he took another sip of coffee, the pink tint of his cheeks surely very similar to the blush she could feel staining her own. Against her better judgement, Peggy was warming to the American sitting across from her, his earnest nature and wide smile setting her traitorous pulse fluttering (and Peggy knew all about traitorous things). And even though Peggy’s cheeks were warm under his frequent glances in her direction, she very clearly heard the things he had not shared about his entry into the army. The answer was not _rehearsed_ , per se, but it was most definitely not the full story. Of course, she could not hold any moral high ground on honesty, especially with a (very attractive) stranger in the middle of what had been a war zone who was holding his cards close. Her background was a lie, after all, but the best lies held within them a grain of truth. Peggy knew she could not share the full truth with Steve, but as their eyes met once again over their warm beverages in a small Bosnian café, she decided that she would come as close as she possibly could.

====

“Suddenly, I was alone. I had nowhere to turn. And it dawned on me that I was going to have to face this all by myself. And the door opened and Headmaster Portley walked in to find me wearing a bandit mask in the middle of his bedroom, my hands filled with his wife’s knickers and his most expensive bottle of brandy.” Steve, who had been chuckling quietly as Peggy regaled him with her best boarding school stories, finally gave a loud, unrestrained laugh at the look of consternation and victory on Peggy’s face, as if she was reliving the moment again, years later. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, until he was bent in half in the middle of the street, unable to suppress his laughter. Peggy, for her part, watched with what she hoped was a dispassionate stare as he completely lost control, but his smile and his laugh (a deep, full-bodied sound of pure joy that Peggy thought could have been the single sexiest sound she had ever heard) was quite contagious. Peggy soon found herself unable to hold back either, and after a prolonged moment of hilarity to the strange stares of the locals, they continued walking along the cobblestone road. They would be quiet for a moment, but inevitably, Steve would giggle, and Peggy would snicker, and they would set each other off again.

Peggy couldn’t remember the last time she had this much _fun_. Sure, her job was exciting, high risk and high reward, perfect for the adrenaline junkie she had been since childhood, but being a spy was a lonely life, and spending time with Steve was proving to be a good time, even though worries tried to crowd themselves back into her mind. Her contact and the very important information she still needed to obtain were at the top of the list, but as Steve “accidentally” nudged her hard enough to knock her off balance with a mischievous grin, she decided she could afford one afternoon of worry-free fun with a young American soldier who had his own secrets.

They made quite the pair, she was sure, walking closely together along streets still scarred by war, crumbling buildings the background for two young foreigners laughing together. She was conscious of the locals’ stares, but Peggy’s instinct to be as inconspicuous as possible was suddenly less important than Steve’s tales of shenanigans with his unit, whom he fondly referred to as “The Howlers.” Nothing combat-related, which likely meant they were Special Ops of some kind, but stories of elaborate pranks, mistaken identities, and a particular incident involving a one-eyed goat, a pack of Altoids, and 200 bobby pins. Steve had her in stitches, gasping for breath, and Peggy had never felt so carefree.

They stopped to collect themselves for a moment in front of a market stall, one of the only ones open. Even in the aftermath of war, life still goes on. As Peggy caught her breath, she was drawn to a beautiful red scarf that definitely matched her favorite lipstick. Steve noticed her interest and pulled out his wallet, but Peggy instantly protested.

“Steve, what are you doing?”

Steve shrugged and motioned to the owner of the stall for the scarf. “You had your eye on it, and it would perfectly match the lipstick you’re wearing. I think you would look good in red.”

Peggy raised one eyebrow. “I’ll have you know, I look excellent in red. But that’s not the point! I can’t ask you to buy this for me.”

“You’re not asking me to do anything. It’s a gift.” Steve had a bit of steel in his eyes, a look she recognized well, as she tended to be pretty stubborn herself. They stood, unmoving, for a few moments, neither backing down, before Peggy threw her hands in the air.

“Oh, all right. But I get to buy you one too.”

Steve grinned. “If you insist.” Peggy pulled a deep blue scarf from where it was hanging above them, and together they haggled with the owner until they both had a scarf in their possession. Steve draped the red scarf over Peggy’s head as if it were a medal, and she accepted it with grace and a small smirk. Peggy did the same, laughing when Steve pretended to toss his hair, the scarf fluttering dramatically, completely at odds with his leather jacket and jeans.

They continued walking down the street, hands almost touching, shoulders leaning in toward each other. Steve took a breath, presumably to continue their storytelling, or perhaps to ask the question she was dying for him to ask, but she would never know. At that same moment, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her contact slumped against the side of a building, holding her side and grimacing in pain. Suddenly, reality crashed over Peggy like a sneaker wave, pulling her back against her will. She knew, as pleasant as this interlude had been, she had a vitally important job to do.

Peggy stopped abruptly, pulling Steve around to face her by the ends of his scarf. He looked quite handsome with it, truthfully, the blue of the scarf bringing out his eyes. He gave her a quizzical look, but she ignored it, pulling him closer. Peggy put one hand on his cheek, and he leaned into it involuntarily.

“I’m sorry, Steve, but I have to go now.” He opened his mouth—maybe to protest, maybe to ask why—but Peggy stopped the words before they could come, placing her lips on his. Her world narrowed as he responded, pulling her close. His hands were warm against her waist, his eyelashes soft against her cheek, his lips pliant beneath hers. Peggy inhaled sharply and pulled away. Before Steve could react, she lifted her lips to his ear, whispered “My friends call me Peggy,” and walked away.

Peggy pulled her new scarf over her hair and pulled out glasses from an inside pocket of her jacket, blending in with the locals walking along the street. She watched as Steve spun around, trying to catch sight of her, his cheeks still pink from their kiss. He ran a hand through his hair, jaw set and eyes once again full of steel, and he looked around once again, but Peggy knew he wouldn’t find her. She was the best, after all.

Steve sighed defeatedly and turned back toward the bridge, trudging along with shoulders slightly slumped. Peggy watched him go with regret, allowing herself to imagine walking back with him, exchanging last names and contact information, promising to reconnect on the bridge the next day. _It would have been a great start to something_ , Peggy thought as she stepped into the alleyway where her contact waited, _but it just wasn’t meant to be._

 

_Washington, DC (a couple decades later)_

There were a lot of things that Steve Rogers liked about being president, but overly formal state visits were not one of them. He was never a guy for pomp or ceremony, and that hadn’t changed when he was elected. It was stressful and frightening, a landmine of potential international incidents, especially for a guy who didn’t put his foot in his mouth often, but the results were spectacular when he did.

Really, any sort of formal ceremony made him nervous (he had seriously considered ditching his own inauguration because of how ceremonial it was), but he was also unsettled because of who was coming. Prime Minister Carter was, by all accounts, the most badass person on the planet, as well as ridiculously smart and incredibly gorgeous. Bucky, his best friend and Chief of Staff, had taken one look at the request for the visit and laughed for a good five minutes before telling him, “This one’s gonna eat you alive, Steve, president or not.”

Steve had punched him for that one, but the words were swirling around in his head as he straightened his tie for the tenth time. Admittedly, some of his nerves were stemming from her remarkable similarities to the woman he had met in Bosnia twenty years before, his biggest “what if.” After she had kissed him and vanished, he had spent the rest of his leave searching for her without success, much to the amusement of his unit. She had captivated him in the one day they had spent together, and that feeling had surfaced in full force the moment he saw her picture after she was elected. The current prime minister had no reason to have been in Bosnia, nor was she ever diplomatic security, as his Peggy had been, so he just assumed it was a strange coincidence or wishful thinking.

Similarities to his ultimate _what if_ aside, this was an extremely important state visit. The United Kingdom, as he had been told multiple times by the National Security Council and Wanda, his Chief of Protocol, the United Kingdom was their most valuable ally and he could not screw this up under any circumstances. So, a very high-stakes, high-pressure visit all around.

He greeted Howard Stark, the UK ambassador and a good friend of his, as they waited for the Prime Minister to arrive. Five minutes passed, and then ten, but there was still no sign of her or her entourage.  Steve was starting to feel concerned, but Howard rolled his eyes and sighed loudly.

“She’s been like this for years,” Howard said fondly, his gray moustache twitching as he grinned. “Never on time for anything, and apparently holding high office hasn’t changed that.”

Steve grinned back. “Well, that’s one thing we have in common, then. My Chief of Staff says I’m going to make him go gray early.” Said Chief of Staff was glaring at Steve from across the room, as if he was personally responsible for the delay in the official schedule.

Howard snickered—James Barnes was known as the most patient man in DC with good reason—and replied, “We all make sacrifices for our country, Mr. President. Barnes sacrifices his perfect hair to the greater good.”

Steve snorted and opened his mouth to retort when the Prime Minster and her staff blew into the room. She looked completely unaffected, her staff a little frazzled. Steve stood still for a moment, overcome once again by her resemblance to the woman he met twenty years before, but it seemed she was experiencing something similar. She froze in place for a moment and scanned his face, eyebrows drawn, eyes slightly narrowed, like there was something she was trying very hard to remember.

Steve shook himself slightly, just to get himself back into the presidential mindset. He would be professional if it killed him.

“Welcome to the United States, Prime Minister Carter. It’s an honor to meet you.” Steve offered his hand, and she took it firmly, but he noticed her eyes had widened as soon as he opened his mouth. He was instantly consumed by the fear that he had screwed this whole visit up right at the beginning, but once she spoke, he understood.

“The pleasure is all mine, President Rogers.” Steve was, in a word, gob smacked. As soon as she spoke, he was pulled back to Mostar, Bosnia, in the aftermath of a terrible war, standing on a structurally unsound bridge with a young British woman and discussing the value of memory as a target of war.  Steve saw the same recognition in her eyes, but the almost imperceptible head shake told him clearly that now was not the time to discuss their previous acquaintance.

Instead, he released her hand and said, “Please, call me Steve. I think we don’t really need to stand on too much ceremony here. After all, our countries are old friends.”

“Oh, I don’t know. We British do love our ceremonies.” At the slight panic in his expression, though, she laughed. “But, I suppose you may call me Peggy. What good is formality among friends?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some fun facts about this chapter...
> 
> The US Army was in Bosnia after the war as part of the NATO forces, but they were actually located in the south, not in Mostar, so, you know, creative license and all that.  
> The Stari Most is a real bridge that was destroyed by the Croats and was rebuilt in the early 2000's.  
> "Killing memory" has been discussed in several articles and books regarding cultural destruction as a tool of war. (It's definitely not an original phrase lol)  
> If you want more information about the Bosnian war and the aftermath, let me know! I have a few of the sources I used for this chapter bookmarked somewhere.
> 
> Also, Peggy's boarding school story comes straight from Agent Carter, Season 2 Episode 2. It was just too good to pass up.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Let Loose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the rest of the AU [here](thesokovianaccords.tumblr.com/tagged/special-relationship).
> 
> (FYI this is shamelessly based on that one Hugh Grant scene from Love Actually. You know the one.)
> 
> Enjoy!

****

Peggy Carter really loved her job, but she also really enjoyed the end of the day. Visits from heads of state always made her day more difficult, even when she liked the person. And she really liked Steve, but the alliance between the US and the UK meant that the President’s visit was always quite an affair.

So, after a day full of press conferences and meetings on top of her normal duties, Peggy was more than ready to have the evening to herself. She kicked off her high heels—rather forcefully—and tossed her jacket onto a nearby chair with a deep sigh. A gin and tonic and a couple hours listening to the radio were exactly what she needed.

Tonight was oldies night, evidently, and Peggy found herself humming along as she searched for the gin. According to the DJ, the song was “Jump” by The Pointer Sisters, a song from Peggy’s university years, and she soon abandoned her drink in favor of dancing along.

At her request, 10 Downing Street had been equipped with a state-of-the-art sound system. After all, what was the point of being Prime Minister if you couldn’t enjoy music the way it was meant to be enjoyed. Peggy didn’t dance through the halls often, but on the rare occasion she did, the music travelled throughout the residence.

Peggy lost herself in the music as she strutted and shimmied around 10 Downing, the ability to let loose liberating. Even as she danced down the stairs, though, she found her thoughts returning again and again (as they often did) to Steve.

They were friends, for sure. They had met several times by now, at a couple international summits, the UN General Assembly, and her first visit to the US (not to mention their first meeting in Mostar), and they shared a closeness and camaraderie that Peggy had failed to develop with her other international counterparts. Peggy knew well the value of real friends, rather than alliances born out of necessity—in both espionage and diplomacy, real friends were the rarest of gifts.

So, they were friends. Good friends. Maybe even best friends, if two world leaders could be such a thing. And yet, Peggy’s thoughts frequently drifted to the ridiculous length of Steve’s eyelashes, the warmth of his hand on her back as they walked to their next meeting, the hint of cologne that filled her nose as he leaned in to hear her whispered snarky comment, the rich cadence of his laugh as he tried to crack his Chief of Staff’s poker face across the room.

Peggy shook her head to dispel her thoughts and refocused on the music as she reached the first floor. She was one of the most powerful women in the world, and here she was, nursing a crush like she hadn’t since university. Well, she _had_ , but thinking about that would not help her current situation in the slightest, as it had been the same man, just twenty years before. This was a monumentally terrible idea in so many ways. He was the President of the United States, and they had a solid working relationship and friendship that was incredibly important to her, certainly something worth protecting.

Firmly resolved to stop thinking about it so that her silly crush would go away, Peggy danced into the living room. She swung her hips in time with the music and spun around, only to freeze in shock and embarrassment. Steve stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the door frame, about two seconds away from bursting into laughter.

“Steve!”

“Hi Peggy,” he said, glancing up at the speakers near the ceiling before running his eyes over her. She blushed, and his grin grew wider. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, you know,” Peggy said, waving a hand in the air casually, trying to catch her breath. Of course, she had been fine until she had seen him standing there in a jacket and jeans, sucking all the oxygen out of her lungs and, apparently, the room. “Letting off some steam.”

“Is that what they call it now?” Steve replied, raising one eyebrow.

Peggy shrugged. “Semantics, really. Care to join?”

Steve snorted and, to Peggy’s delight, blushed. “I, uh, can’t dance.”

Peggy rolled her eyes and walked toward him, hand outstretched. “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone can dance.”

Steve let himself be pulled forward, even as he continued protesting. “Really, it’s not pretty. Nightmare scenario. I’ve been banned from dancing at all official Howling Commandos gatherings because of the carnage.”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Dancing is easy. You just need the right partner.” She placed his hands on her hips, and he looked about ready to bolt. “Bloody Nora, Steve! I’m not a bomb. Now, move your hips just like this, in time with the music. Yes, just like that.” They moved together as the song slowly tapered off, Steve becoming more confident by infinitesimal degrees, Peggy studiously ignoring how perfect his large hands felt on her hips as she swayed with the music. 

In the moment of silence between the ending song and the next, Peggy looked up to meet Steve’s eyes, happy to see a few fewer lines around his eyes and mouth as he smiled softly at her. She knew that being President was a taxing job, and she was happy to provide a moment’s respite, especially when it meant he was this close to her (though if anyone asked, she would vehemently deny even having thought such a thing).

“I didn’t know you were coming by tonight, otherwise I would have made sure your fanfare was playing as you entered” she said with a smirk. She knew he thought all the pomp and ceremony was a bit ridiculous, which of course meant she teased him endlessly about it.

Steve shook his head and sighed heavily, hands tightening reflexively as they slid around her waist, pulling her a bit closer. The music had switched to what sounded like Whitney Houston, but Peggy and Steve swayed slowly together instead of trying to match the fast pace of the song.

“I think I should change it. ‘Hail to the Chief’ is a bit overwrought, and it’s only been, like, a year and I’m sick of it, which does not bode well.”

Peggy scrunched her nose, as if in deep thought, and Steve looked appropriately wary. “Well,” she drawled, “you could always use your other song. What was it? ‘The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan?’”

Steve growled, but Peggy continued, unruffled. “How does that go? ‘Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American—”

“I’m going to kill Bucky,” Steve sighed, hanging his head and, in the process, brushing his soft blond hair against her forehead and forcing every coherent thought from her head. She snorted, hoping that would be an appropriate response to whatever they were talking about. She was hyperaware of how close they were standing, of his hands on her waist, of her arms looped around his neck. Without her customary heels, he towered over her, and all of Peggy’s well-honed espionage training compelled her to take note of every detail of her current situation and commit it to memory.

She and Steve locked eyes, still dancing slowly, and Peggy realized that she had been quiet for way too long. She scrambled for something to say, landing on, “So what brings you here this evening? I’m sure it was not to join the dance party.”

Steve shrugged. “I was thinking about the meetings earlier today and wanted to discuss a couple things with you while they were still fresh in my head.”

Peggy stepped back, eyes wide. “You came here at eight o’clock to talk about work? Steve!”

His jaw jutted defensively. “What?”

Peggy shook her head. “There’s this brilliant concept called a work/life balance. Have you heard of it?” Steve opened his mouth to defend himself, but Peggy barreled on. “Next time you find yourself thinking about work after six o’clock, you’re going to do this,’ she proclaimed, waving one hand in the air to indicate her impromptu dance party that he had interrupted.

“Slow dancing to ‘Walking on Sunshine?’” Steve asked, one eyebrow cocked. Peggy started slightly. She hadn’t realized the song had changed.

“No. You’re going to let loose. Have a bath, drink a gin and tonic, dance around the White House, read a book about Pablo Picasso. I don’t know. Whatever will get you out of your head for a while.” Peggy reached up and smoothed Steve’s hair back from his face, and for a moment she thought he leaned into her touch, but that simply wasn’t possible. Clearly, she was projecting her own crush onto him, which meant she needed to create some distance between them. But his hands fit just right on her waist, and he was so warm, and the short strands of hair on the back of his neck just begged to be touched, and she found that she had no desire to let him go.

“You know, I’m pretty sure you can’t give me orders. One of the perks of being President.”

Peggy hummed thoughtfully, inching just a little closer. “Perhaps not, but I can be one concerned friend looking out for another. You’re an amazing leader, President Rogers, but sometimes you need to take some time to just be Steve, too, yeah?”

Steve sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”

Peggy scoffed. “I’m always right, darling.” Steve stiffened, eyes wide as he examined her face. Peggy didn’t know what he was looking for, but she was sure he found mostly panic. She didn’t know what had possessed her to call him that, and she was certainly never going to do it again, but she couldn’t help feeling gratified that Steve was blushing slightly. Peggy cleared her throat, and Steve broke eye contact to look over her shoulder.

They swayed for a second longer before Steve sighed heavily. “I should probably head back. Another full day of meetings and events tomorrow for both of us.”

Peggy nodded her agreement even as she tightened her hands clasped behind his neck involuntarily. Steve must have noticed because instead of pulling away, he leaned in close, mouth right next to her ear and said, “One more song?”

Peggy pulled back and grinned, hopefully successfully masking the shiver rolling down her spine from his warm breath on her neck. “One more song sounds perfect.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? An update?? I know it's been 84 years (or two months) but I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I was originally going to write a much different chapter, but there has been so much angst and sadness with Steve and Peggy recently, so I wanted to do something a little lighter.
> 
> Just a reminder, I'm on tumblr at thesokovianaccords, if you want to come say hi, get occasional updates, or just witness my ever-deepening love for Marvel.
> 
> Let me know what you thought, and thanks for reading!


	4. The Ottawa Summit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the rest of the AU at thesokovianaccords.tumblr.com/tagged/special-relationship

While Steve recognized the strategic value of NATO and fully engaged in the organization, there were many things about it that he found utterly ridiculous.

“They actually call it a ‘family portrait’?”

Bucky snorted as he scrolled through the phone that was, if Steve had to guess, surgically attached to his right hand. He hadn’t seen his best friend put the damn thing down once since he first asked Bucky to be his campaign manager. Sometimes Steve would text Bucky just to make a point, but instead of reacting, he would just respond out loud to whatever he had sent, completely unperturbed.

“The most dysfunctional family in the history of mankind,” Bucky replied as Steve skimmed the official schedule. “Two world wars and multiple global crises are nothing to the bonds of brotherhood.”

Steve rolled his eyes and kicked at Bucky’s shin half-heartedly. “With another one of the two on the way, if anything goes wrong this weekend.” Steve looked up with a weary, put-upon sigh. “Just once, can I go somewhere without the fate of the free world resting on me not screwing things up?”

“Should’ve read the fine print in your contract, Mr. President. Everything you ever do as president has the potential to turn international relations into a shitshow, so don’t screw this up. We’re close enough to an implosion already, and we don’t need you doing something stupid.”

“I won’t do something stupid,” Steve grouched, slumped down in the seat in an undignified slouch that was decidedly un-presidential. Bucky didn’t respond, but Steve caught him rolling his eyes in his peripheral vision and sat up straight, glaring at his Chief of Staff.

“You know what, Buck—“

But the threat was left unfinished as the motorcade pulled up to the ornate hotel where the NATO Summit was held.

“Okay, Mr. President—”

“Really, again with that?”

“Remember that this summit is extremely important, since it may be the only thing preventing the European continent from descending into chaos. Mingle, remind all of them—”

“Of their obligations to NATO and how they make us stronger together, rather than emphasizing the differences. I know, I’ve done this before.”

“Don’t spend the whole time talking to Prime Minister Carter, either. Sure, the ‘special relationship’ is important and all, but don’t push it. This is a multilateral summit, not a private Anglo-American club where other states just stand around and watch.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Sure you don’t.” He pushed Steve out of the limo, and only his excellent reflexes honed by years of training kept him from falling face-first onto the pavement. He shot Bucky a dirty look as he exited behind him, looking much more graceful.

“That was unnecessary,” Steve muttered as they walked through the doors, but Bucky didn’t respond. Instead, he handed Steve’s key to one of the Secret Service agents and pointed directly at Steve’s face.

“Nothing stupid.” With that, he sauntered off to his own room.

“I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to talk to me like that,” Steve called after him, a small smile quirking the corners of his lips. Bucky spun around and walked backwards with a shrug.

“My sincerest apologizes, _Mister President_ ,” Bucky replied with a bow, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. Steve waved him off with a chuckle, and with an overly jaunty salute, Bucky was gone.

“Are you twelve?” At the sound of the crisp British accent, Steve spun on his heel, a wide smile spreading across his face. Peggy stood in the lobby, about ten feet away, one hip cocked and arms crossed, her red lips pulled upward into a grin.

“Well, he is. I’m a Very Important Person, you know. Always dignified.”

“Clearly.” Peggy snorted and strode toward him, halting with her toes just inches from his. She smelled like vanilla and coffee, and Steve felt himself leaning even closer, unable to stop himself (not that he would want to).

The silence dragged on as they looked at each other, drinking the other person in after months apart. They called and skyped every so often (or every few days), but Steve had been looking forward to this summit—and to seeing Peggy—ever since it was first placed on the schedule.

A cough from one of the Secret Service agents pulled Steve out of his Peggy-induced trance, and he blushed slightly as he stepped back. He thought he noticed a displeased crinkle in her brow as he widened the distance between them to something more respectable, but he decided that he was just imagining it.

“Nice to see you, Prime Minister Carter.”

“You’re looking well, President Rogers,” Peggy replied, reaching out for a handshake. Her hand was warm and soft, and his skin tingled slightly as he clasped her hand within his own.

“Well,” Steve said as he reluctantly released Peggy’s hand, “one of my friends told me once that I needed to ‘let loose’ more, and I have been trying to take that advice as of late.”

“Sounds like a good friend.” Peggy’s words were nonchalant, but Steve could see the slight flush to her cheeks and the small smile she couldn’t quite hide.

“The very best.” The words and the sentiment were incredibly cheesy, probably one of the dopiest things Steve had said in a while, but his embarrassment melted away as Peggy grinned widely and punched his shoulder lightly.

“And don’t you forget it.” Her tone was stern, but her eyes sparkled, and Steve felt a twinge in his chest that spelled nothing but trouble for him, since it only appeared when he was around her.

He shook himself slightly—now was not the time to be entertaining such thoughts, even if all he wanted to do was think about the way the sunlight reflected off her curls or the way her red lipstick would look on his starched white collar—and offered his arm with exaggerated gallantry. “Shall we join the others for the reception?”

Peggy took his arm in hers with a dramatic hair flip. “We shall.” They walked together for a moment before Peggy leaned in and whispered, “Can you believe they call the official photo a ‘family portrait?’”

Steve threw his free hand in the air. “That’s what I said! It’s weird, right?”

“The weirdest,” Peggy affirmed, patting Steve on the arm (and definitely not noticing just how defined his bicep was). “If anything, calling NATO a family begs conflict, though the arguments over politics lead to missiles being flung instead of mashed potatoes.”

Steve stopped and faced Peggy, unsure that he heard her correctly. “Throwing mashed potatoes?”

Peggy heaved a sigh. “Yes.”

They stood in the doorway, each leaning against the frame, Peggy’s hand still loosely encircling Steve’s arm. In the conference room, the Heads of State and Government from the different NATO member states stood in clusters, discussing the current European predicament over too-strong mimosas and mostly-fresh fruit, but Steve and Peggy—heads tilted together slightly, lingering by the doorjamb with a proximity to one another that could _almost_ be called platonic—were caught up in their own sphere, unaware of their colleagues and responsibilities that waited just yards away.

“Your holidays sound very exciting.”

Peggy smirked and hip-checked him as she turned to head into the reception. “Oh darling,” she said, running her hand down his arm as she pulled slowly away (just to keep touching him a little longer, not that she would ever admit it), “you have no idea.”

===

Steve’s head was spinning as he slouched slightly in his chair and voices droned on around him. After two days of back-to-back meetings and dinners and press conferences, he was ready to head back to his room for a well-deserved nap before flying back to DC. Unfortunately, this last meeting, which was the second meeting of the North Atlantic Council at the level of Heads of State and Government, was more than four hours over its scheduled time.

This had been the theme of the entire summit, from the initial reception to this final meeting. Steve had found himself in the middle of what amounted to a verbal proxy war that encompassed the entire European continent, and he could feel the scream of frustration that was about to erupt from the back of his throat. Two full days of passive-aggressive (and not-so-passive-aggressive) language from his European counterparts rattled around in his skull, and it showed no signs of abating.

At the moment, Steve could hear Peggy yelling at the French president while the German chancellor tried to talk over both of them. The current debates within the United Kingdom over their role in Europe had hung heavy over Peggy’s head throughout the summit, even though the European institutions had no bearing over the security discussions that were meant to dominate the two days in Ottawa. Instead of finding solutions for Russia’s revisionist ambitions and the increasing vulnerability of Western societies to cyber-attacks and terrorism, petty infighting between different European powers dominated every meeting, and Steve could see the strain in Peggy’s posture, her facial expressions, even the way she wore her hair—loose, so that she could run her hands through it.

(He had spent too many minutes in the never-ending meetings watching the strands slip through long fingers, lost in imagining his own hands doing the same thing).

 As the representative of the United States, the one country literally most invested in the alliance, Steve had tried to direct the tone and content of the summit from that first reception, but no matter how loudly he spoke about the dangers of cyber-attacks or terrorism, he was ignored in favor of squabbles about economic and political integration and its “vital” role in preserving security within Europe. He was about ready to grab a baseball bat and call everyone to order his own way. Even though he knew it was the opposite of diplomatic, the idea had a visceral sense of satisfaction to it, especially since he could see the Estonian prime minister actually climb on top of her chair to be heard over the bickering between the Western European nations.

As the Latvian president stood on his chair in solidarity and joined the fray, shouting about the Russian threat within their country and along the border, Steve must have groaned audibly, because all the Heads of State and Government turned their heads toward him simultaneously. A worrisome (yet incredibly welcome) silence fell over the room.

Steve cursed under his breath, even as he pushed himself to his feet to address the rest of the North Atlantic Council.

“Look, we have been at this for eight hours. Without a break. I have had nine cups of coffee, Prime Minister Carter has devoured 12 bags of Haribo gummy bears, and they have replaced the scone and cookie platters five times.”

Steve resolutely ignored Peggy, who was grumbling about the differences between cookies and biscuits and how he hadn’t learned a single thing from her.  Though, he couldn’t resist at least a slight eye-roll, which broke the tension between the presidents and prime ministers seated around the table.  As the members of the North Atlantic Council chuckled at his expense (and Peggy’s), Steve let out a relieved sigh. He caught Peggy’s eye and winked as she sent a grateful smile his way, the spotlight finally off of the United Kingdom (and her).

Once the laughter dissipated and the Estonian and Latvian leaders were again seated in their chairs, Steve ran his hands through his hair and expelled a long breath, once again trying to organize his thoughts into a statement that would get them out of there as quickly as possible.

“This is an organization comprised of twenty-eight very different states, with extremely diverse populations, political systems, needs, and priorities. It stands to reason that those individual differences would provoke discussions and disagreements in this setting, especially since we deal with sensitive issues, including national security.” Steve stood and pushed his chair in as he began to pace.

“Despite these differences,” Steve continued, leaning with his hands on the back of his chair, “we are ultimately an alliance. We are united in the desire to protect and defend one another, as articulated in Article Five of the Washington Treaty that set up this whole organization. _That_ is what we should be focusing on today. No matter what happens with the United Kingdom, we will still be allies, committed to one another, and our priority will always be collective security. Always.”

Steve pulled out his chair and dropped into it, all eyes still on him. “Now, the whole purpose of this summit is to discuss solutions to our changing security needs, particularly in response to increased cyber threats and the ongoing fight against radical terrorism. The concerns you have been discussing, while important, are probably more relevant at the next meeting of the European Council.” He made eye contact with each member of the council. Many of them looked unhappy, but no one was arguing with him, so he took that as a cue to proceed. “We need to nail down a communique for the summit during this meeting, and then we can escape this conference room forever. Okay?” Three or four leaders nodded their heads, but that was enough for Steve. “Okay, then let’s begin.”

===

There was an art to the fondue fork, apparently. Though Peggy had been snickering when she said that, so Steve was pretty sure she was messing with him. When he dropped his bread into the fondue pot for the umpteenth time—he had stopped counting after fifteen, but Peggy assured him she was still keeping a tally in her head—he decided that it was true. With a mournful look at the small piece of bread now swimming in melted cheese, he dropped his forehead to the table in defeat. Probably a little more dramatic than the situation called for, but in his defense, it had been a very long weekend. Peggy let out a loud snort at his antics, which made her laugh even harder, her cheeks turning pink in embarrassment.

“That’s adorable.”

“Shut up, Steve,” Peggy replied, though her attempted glare was foiled by the sporadic giggles that still escaped as she tried to recover.

“I’m just saying, Peg—“

“Whatever you’re ‘just saying,’ you,” Peggy said with a flourish of her fondue fork, “can keep it to yourself.”

Steve zipped his lips and winked, which made Peggy snort again, which set them both off. It may just have been a release of tension after the summit they had just endured, but their laughter quickly shifted into hysterical, punch-drunk giggles that had Steve and Peggy clutching their sides and gasping for breath in the middle of the restaurant. The staff probably thought they were insane, and the Secret Service was very pointedly not looking at the two of them, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to care because it felt so _good_ to laugh with Peggy, to see her cheeks flushed and nose scrunched and eyes bright.

Their laughter slowly abated, and Steve felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Maybe not the whole world, but the weight of a hemisphere, at least. The room seemed lighter, and he could feel his spirits rise alongside it, even as he noticed that he and Peggy had gravitated toward one another, sitting far closer to each other than when they had begun. His chief of staff and her private secretary had joined them at the restaurant, and the mood had been celebratory (if still professional), but both Bucky and Angie had begged off early, eager to catch up on the sleep they had lost through the weekend.

Peggy and Steve chose to stay longer, since they decided by mutual agreement that by surviving that summit with the alliance and their dignities intact warranted more than an hour’s worth of celebration. With each glass of wine and bite of melted cheese, the atmosphere eased, until they were laughing and talking like the best of friends.

Except that Steve couldn’t stop staring at Peggy’s lips as she verbally eviscerated the French president and German chancellor, describing in great detail exactly what she wanted to do to them for picking at everything she said and refusing to work with her because of the anti-EU sentiment running through her country.  As he watched, mesmerized, Peggy gracefully dipped a small square of bread in the pot and brought it to her mouth, but a small drop of cheese fell onto her full lips as she took a bite. She huffed and reached for a napkin, but Steve, almost instinctively, reached out and rubbed his thumb along her bottom lip until the cheese was gone. Peggy froze, eyes locked onto Steve’s face. He returned her gaze, suddenly nervous. The room seemed to spin around them, and it felt like the world shrank until it was just the two of them, warm and flushed and teetering on the edge of a wonderful, earth-shattering _something_.

If asked, Steve would swear up and down that he didn’t know who moved first, but ultimately, it didn’t matter. A heartbeat and an age passed as they sat, motionless.

And then, they moved.

The kiss was tentative, gentle, until it wasn’t, until it was bitten lips and red nails on Steve’s jawline and soft strands of brown hair running through his fingers. It was a warm hand on a thigh and fingers curling in a collar. It was twenty years of missed opportunities and longing glances and anticipation of international meetings and distraction during important summits. It was late night dances and long text messages and so very new, yet so familiar. It was heat and excitement and desire.

And then, it was over.

Steve reeled back sharply, and Peggy followed suit, eyes wide. They stared at each other for a long moment, chests heaving as they tried to catch their breaths. Steve opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Peggy motioned for the check with a jerky movement, avoiding all eye contact. Steve ran a hand down his face, trying to compose himself, but when he pulled his hand away, it was covered in waxy red streaks. The realization that their kiss had left lipstick marks on his face pushed every thought out of his head, leaving behind only a rush of desire.

After a long minute, once he managed to focus on something other than the blood thrumming through his veins, Steve realized that Peggy was in the process of signing the receipt.

“Peggy, you didn’t have to—“

She smiled tightly. “My treat. As a thank you for having my back this weekend.”

Steve tilted forward, a slight smile overtaking his face almost unconsciously. “Anytime.”  

Peggy’s expression dropped into something almost wistful. She reached out as if to touch his cheek, but she pulled back her hand as if she had been burned, her face shuttering. She jumped to her feet, and with a quiet, “Goodbye, Steve,” she was gone.

===

The ride back to the hotel took six minutes. The elevator ride from the lobby to his room took thirty seconds. Unknotting his tie and pouring three fingers of whiskey took one minute. Steve’s internal debate, agonizing over whether to call Peggy and talk about what just happened, consumed each one of those four hundred fifty seconds, apologies and explanations and questions swirling around in his head until it was a hurricane of uncertainty that was liable to drive him insane.

Steve stood at the window of his hotel room, glass in one hand, phone tapping against his lips in the other. He was trying to compose exactly what he was going to say to Peggy when he called—and he _was_ going to call—but he was continually distracted by the phantom scratch of her nails against his jaw and the way his lips still tingled from the kiss.

He had just started over for the fourth time when a knock on the door startled him out of his reverie. He jumped and almost threw his phone at the door, but he managed to redirect it to the chair instead.  If he had to guess who was at the door, Steve would have put his money on Bucky, who always had a sixth sense about when Steve had done something stupid, ever since they were children. And what he had done in that restaurant was monumentally boneheaded. Peggy was a colleague, a friend, and most importantly, a vitally important international ally. He was the President of the United States, and as President, he could not just go around kissing world leaders, no matter how fast they made his heart beat. He could go down in history as the guy who destroyed the special relationship, the cornerstone of US foreign policy for two hundred years, because he couldn’t have at least a little self-control.

As he crossed the room to open the door, Steve practiced his poker face, because Bucky could sniff out his lies better than any bloodhound, and the last thing he needed was a lecture on propriety and responsibility from his Chief of Staff, and he _definitely_ did not need it from his best friend.

He was both pleasantly surprised and downright terrified when he opened the door to see Peggy, holding her high heels in one hand, rubbing one stockinged foot against her other calf.  Her hair was falling out of its updo, and her clothes were slightly askew. To anyone who knew her well, Peggy appeared unusually disheveled, and Steve couldn’t help but think it was an excellent look.

They stood in silence for a moment, subtly running their eyes over one another, before Peggy cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “I think we have some things to talk about, don’t you?”

Steve nodded and opened the door wider, allowing Peggy to slip through into the room. As she did so, her thigh brushed against his, and Steve’s breath caught at the sensation. He pulled the door closed and gently pushed her against it. Without her customary heels, Peggy was a good head shorter than him, and he bent down to touch his forehead to hers. Their breaths mingled in the cool air.

Steve closed his eyes. “Tell me this is a bad idea.”

Peggy ran her thumb along his cheekbone, and he melted into her touch. “This is a bad idea.”

Steve gave a heavy sigh and looked into Peggy’s eyes. “Tell me to stop.”

Peggy threaded her fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck, pulling him even closer, until she was completely surrounded by his frame. “Not a bloody chance.”

===

Later, Peggy went snooping. Steve was in the shower, room service was on its way, and Peggy had always been curious by nature. It was what made her an excellent spy back in the day, and even once she transitioned into politics, she never lost that desire to know everything. So, she wrapped herself in the bedsheet and went hunting.

Her goal certainly was not to be invasive, but even though she knew Steve, there was so much about him that she had yet to discover, and Peggy was always a take-charge kind of person. She began her circuit around the suite with the bedside table. Phone, room key, wallet, tablet, glasses. Peggy picked them up and twirled the arm between her thumb and pointer finger before trying them on.  Peggy was still able to see quite clearly, which likely meant they were more for reading than everyday use.

She wandered over to the closet next, where all of the suits Steve had brought for the weekend hung neatly. “Well, all but one,” Peggy muttered under her breath with a rueful grin, eyeing the suit that lay discarded on the ground next to the bed. Peggy ran her hands along the suits, a slight thrill at the intimacy of the act shooting down her spine.

Steve’s suitcase sat open on a stand right next to the closet, and Peggy simply couldn’t resist a look inside. Right at the top sat a blue scarf that brought Peggy up short. She knew it well, as she had an identical one in red sitting in her own suite. She wrapped it around her neck, and it was like being twenty years younger, walking along a war-torn street with a young GI who had a handsome smile and a long stride.

“Peggy?”

The unexpected voice startled Peggy, and she whirled around in an instinctual defensive stance. Steve snickered, and Peggy relaxed. She probably looked ridiculous, wrapped in a sheet and a scarf, wearing glasses too big for her face, hair in complete disarray. She couldn’t really bring herself to care, though, as she eyed a towel-clad Steve appreciatively.

Peggy tugged on the scarf slightly, mostly out of a desire to distract herself from falling into bed with Steve again. “I can’t believe you kept this all these years.”

Steve shrugged, taking a seat on the bed. “It’s become my good luck charm. I never leave home without it.” He reached for her, and Peggy let herself be pulled until she was seated in his lap. Steve ran his hand along the scarf, inadvertently brushing his fingers against Peggy’s collarbone. She sucked in a breath at the feeling, but she stayed quiet, her curiosity stronger than her desire for the moment.

“I never forgot about you, Peggy,” he continued. “I often thought about the mysterious young woman who hung out on bridges and drank her tea with two sugars and stole the headmaster’s wife’s knickers.” Peggy laughed, and Steve grinned. “I always hoped we would cross paths again someday, and I kept the scarf to show you that even though the time we spent together was too brief, you were important to me.”

Peggy ran her fingers through his hair, the wet strands spiking under her ministrations. “I have an identical scarf in my suitcase, wouldn’t you know.” Steve perked up a bit, and Peggy nodded. “Yes, it has been rather a good luck charm for me as well. Saved my life once or twice, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes, darling. It helped me escape a couple tight spots, and even helped me avoid a hanging.” At Steve’s incredulous look, Peggy chuckled. “Now _that_ is a story.”

They were quiet for a long moment, Peggy’s head resting above Steve’s steady heartbeat. “I always did regret having to leave you behind in that market, Steve. I can’t tell you why I did, because that is still classified and you are a foreign national, but I missed you.” Peggy shook her head. “That’s a little ridiculous, isn’t it? Missing someone you never really knew?”

Steve shrugged. “Not really. I always thought of you as my biggest ‘what if’, and I found myself missing you as well, especially when I thought about what it could have been.”

Peggy hummed her assent. “Well, I always knew we would meet again. It could have been when we were old and gray, and we each had a brood of grandchildren. I would have been content with that because you are an important part of my story, and someday I will tell you how.” Peggy snuggled closer. “I will say, though, I much prefer this to meeting again another thirty years from now.” Steve’s chuckle reverberated through her bones, warming her from the inside out.

“Believe me, Peg, so do I.”

Peggy stretched to kiss him, slow and sweet. Steve responded in kind, but soon the kiss grew heated. Peggy’s hand was slowly sliding down Steve’s abs, and his was rapidly moving southward when he pulled away and set Peggy back on the bed. He began to pace, one hand rubbing the back of his neck and the other holding the towel in place.

“What the hell, Steve?”

“Sorry!” Steve sat down again, a few inches between them. “Sorry. I just…before we go down this road—“

“We’ve already been down this road. A couple times!”

“Before we go down this road _again_ , we need to figure some things out.” Steve blew out a heavy breath. “I like you, a lot, but it’s a lot more complicated than just you and me.”

Peggy sighed. “I know.”

“I mean, I’m the President of the United States, and you are the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. How does this even work?”

“We could just forget it happened. Chalk it up to adrenaline and too much wine.” The words were quiet, but they echoed as Steve winced slightly.

“Is that what you want?”

Peggy looked down at her hands, contemplating her options. It would probably be the smartest choice to walk away, to call it a one-night stand and move on, professional and personal relationship mostly intact. It would hurt for a while, but it would fade with time. However, as Peggy thought about pulling away, treating Steve as anything less than the man who was rapidly becoming the most important person in her life, she found that she didn’t want to. She wanted to kiss him in supply closets and empty conference rooms and hotel rooms during whatever summit they were both attending. She wanted to dance with him, hold him close and feel his heartbeat beneath her cheek. She wanted to share her life with him as much as she could, and the idea of doing anything less made her feel sick.

“No, Steve, that’s not what I want at all.”

“Oh, thank God.” Steve reached out and held both of Peggy’s hands tightly in his own. “We’ll figure it out, Peg, I promise.”

“Okay, but we need some ground rules.”

“Perfect. It can be like those international agreements we love negotiating so much.”

Peggy cocked an eyebrow. “Steve, you hate negotiating international agreements. You have told me on three separate occasions that an entire circle of hell is dedicated to treaty negotiation, with a special torture chamber exclusively for free trade agreements.”

“I said that? That’s brilliant! I should give that to Thor, see if he can include that in a speech in the future.”

“Steve!” Peggy shoved him, harder than he expected, and he fell back onto the bed, laughing until his stomach muscles ached.

Peggy gave him a decidedly unimpressed look. Steve pulled her down on top of him, and she fell with a yelp, barely holding onto the sheet as she sprawled above him. She righted herself and the sheet with a sigh.  Steve must have picked up on something in her expression, because he propped himself up on his elbows, a serious look on his face.

“Okay. Ground rules.”

Peggy ran a hand through her hair, thinking. “First, we can’t tell anyone.”

Steve raised one eyebrow. “Does that make me your dirty little secret?”

“I’m serious, Steve. The fallout if we were discovered would end both of our careers, and it would be even worse for me. No one would ever respect me or take me seriously, and I would be lambasted by the press of both our countries.”

“Agreed. We don’t tell anyone.” Steve ran a thumb along her jaw, and Peggy smiled.

“Thank you.” Peggy tilted her head to the right and ran her eyes down Steve’s face and torso. He cocked an eyebrow, and she grinned. “What do you say we talk more about rules later? I seem to be having trouble coming up with more.”

Steve tugged on the sheet, a suggestive grin spreading across his face. “We should probably brainstorm.”

Peggy snorted and tossed the glasses on the nightstand. “Show me what you got, President Rogers.”

“With pleasure, Prime Minister Carter.” Steve flipped them both over on the bed, basking in Peggy’s delighted laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long, I know, but I hope this makes up for it!
> 
> Some notes:
> 
> I originally wanted to post this during the Warsaw NATO summit, for obvious reasons, but the summit itself sort of distracted me. If you want to read more about it, [here](http://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/events_132023.htm) is the link for the official page.
> 
> The communique referenced by Steve during the meeting would probably have looked a lot like [this](http://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/official_texts_133169.htm). It's super long, but I thought it was an interesting read.
> 
> The family portrait thing is one hundred percent true, by the way. It's in the summit's official schedule.
> 
> There are some veiled references to tensions that ultimately led to the Brexit vote. I figured that Prime Minister Peggy would never actually hold a referendum like that, but I wanted to at least touch on the possible ramifications of a Brexit in other international institutions, so that was my compromise.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought!


	5. An Olympic Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some special tumblr shout-outs for this chapter:
> 
> to steggyisimmortal, whose headcanons are the lifeblood of this chapter
> 
> to ladyanj, who requested this chapter for a follower celebration giveaway
> 
> to take-me-to-ny, for being a wonderful cheerleader as I struggled to write this
> 
>  
> 
> _you can find the rest of this au at thesokovianaccords.tumblr.com/tagged/special-relationship_

“This feels rather like a school trip,” Peggy mused as she and Steve stood in line for the coaches that would transport them from Buckingham Palace to the Olympic Arena.

Steve snorted and fanned himself with his ID tag. “We even have little pieces of paper with our names on them so we don’t get lost en route.”

“You would think, since we are all at least somewhat capable of running a country, we would be capable of getting ourselves from once place to another.”

The monitor at the door gave Peggy a strange look as she boarded the bus, Steve following right behind her. At Steve’s questioning glance, Peggy winced. “My presence here may be outside the realm of standard protocol.”

Peggy marched toward the back of the bus, intent on claiming the window seat. She plopped herself into the seat and set an imperious look his way which was met with a smug grin. He sat next to her, just slightly closer than what would be deemed an appropriate distance for two colleagues.

“Don’t go getting a big head,” Peggy huffed, a sharp elbow to his side punctuating her statement.

“I’m not!” Steve exclaimed, affronted.

“Yes, you are. I can see it swelling as we speak.”

Steve scoped out the bus, and once he was sure no one was looking, he tucked an errant piece of hair behind Peggy’s ear, gently running his thumb along the edge.

“What are these bumps from?”

Peggy’s eyes fluttered shut as Steve’s thumb continued its warm caress of the shell of her ear. “I burned myself with a curling iron when I was at university. It hurt like hell. The funny thing is, the first time someone shot me, my first thought was _damn, I thought the curling iron hurt_.”

“Seriously? It wasn’t _holy shit, I just got shot_?”

“That was my second thought, of course.”

Steve snorted. “Of course.”

A commotion at the front of the bus jolted Steve and Peggy out of their private moment, a stark reminder of exactly who and where they were. Steve dropped his hand to his thigh, and Peggy shifted slightly until she leaned against the window, a respectable distance between them. The shuttle jerked slightly as the engine turned over, and Steve, unprepared for the sudden movement, lost his balance, arms spinning as he tried to regain his equilibrium. Peggy snagged his collar and yanked him back into his seat, stifling a chuckle at his wounded look.

“Don’t worry, darling. Your dignity is still intact.” Steve groaned, and Peggy patted him on the back, her shoulders shaking with her suppressed mirth. “Well, not with me, but no one else seems to have noticed.”

They exchanged brief glances and simultaneously popped up to peer over the seat rests in front of them. The bus was full of the “who’s who” of international politics, with state leaders and high-ranking officials sitting side-by-side, some engaging each other in conversation and others studiously ignoring everyone around them in favor of scrolling through their phones. Peggy snorted as she surveyed the passengers. Steve raised an eyebrow, and Peggy motioned toward the front of the bus, where Pepper Potts—Steve’s long-suffering Secretary of State—and the Russian foreign minister shared a bench seat, each perched on the very edge, as far away from each other as possible in the close quarters. Steve sighed and banged his head on the seat rest in front of him. Relations with Russia had been cooling lately, and it appeared that even the Olympics, the symbol of international goodwill, could not provide an iota of relief. Peggy patted his thigh in commiseration, though her hand lingered, ghosting over the solid muscle. Effectively distracted from the rumblings of international crisis, Steve pointedly glanced at her hand, now firmly gripping his thigh. Peggy winked, and Steve felt his cheeks heat in response.

“What? I’m only human.”

“You,” Steve retorted, sliding his fingers between hers until they were tightly intertwined, “are trouble.” He tapped her nose with their clasped hands and returned the wayward appendage to Peggy’s lap with a baleful look. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

Peggy nudged Steve’s shoulder with her own, a glint in her eye that usually spelled nothing but the best kind of danger for him. “And don’t you forget it.” She pulled a deck of cards out of her pocket and began to shuffle them on the seat in the narrow space between them. “Let’s see if I can still kick your ass at gin, shall we?”

===

_“Welcome back to NBC’s coverage of the Opening Ceremonies of the London Olympics. We are here live, currently waiting for the proceedings to begin. In case you missed it, just before our commercial break, one of our cameras caught President Steve Rogers in the stands taking selfies with UK Prime Minister Peggy Carter. As you can see here, the president and prime minister are participating in the highly celebratory atmosphere in the Olympic Arena, making silly faces at the camera.”_

_“Do you think they would send us the pictures if we asked nicely?”_

===

“We have got to work on your dancing.”

Steve looked around self-consciously. “What’s wrong with it?”

Peggy shook her head and hip-checked him. “You’re dancing like a middle-aged suburban dad, Steve. Loosen your hips, relax your shoulders. There you go.” Steve cautiously mimicked Peggy’s relaxed movements, though he noticed that many of his colleagues were doing the same awkward side-to-side sway that he had been warned against. The exceptions seemed to be Pepper and Jemma Simmons, Peggy’s Foreign Secretary, who appeared to be doing the sprinkler together, and the president of China, who had more rhythm than anyone had expected from the rather straight-laced leader.

“I thought you had been ‘letting loose,’ per the advice of your very good friend.” Peggy leaned in close to be heard over the loud music on the arena floor, and the warmth of her breath on his neck sent Steve’s head spinning. He shook his head in an attempt to regain his equilibrium, and he tilted his chin down slightly to meet Peggy’s eyes. She met his gaze with a spark of amusement dancing behind her brown irises, and Steve narrowed his eyes in response.

“You did that on purpose.”

“Did what?” Peggy shrugged, perfectly casual. “Ask you a question?”

Steve opened his mouth to retort, but then her words caught up with him. “What was the question?”

“Well, it was more of an interrogative statement than an actual question—“ Peggy cut herself off with a laugh at Steve’s exasperation, and she relented. “I asked about whether or not you were ‘letting loose,’ like you said you were at the NATO summit. Remember, on the advice of your ‘very good friend?’” Peggy made sure to include the air quotes, and Steve shook his head, a grin that could only be described as _fond_ taking over his features.

“I can honestly say that weekend was the best way of letting loose that I could have ever asked for.” Steve winked, earning him an embarrassed elbow in the ribs. “Actually, though, I have been trying to take time for myself, like you suggested. I started drawing again.”

“I didn’t know you were an artist.”

Steve shrugged, but the color on his cheeks belied the nonchalant gesture. “I don’t know if I would go that far. It was more of a hobby than anything else, though I did go to art school before enlisting.”

Fireworks exploded over their heads, distracting them both from their conversation. Peggy snuck a glance at Steve, who watched the display with a soft smile. Peggy wasn’t much for pyrotechnics (unless she was the one shooting them off), but she had to admire the way the multi-colored lights highlighted the angles of Steve’s face, shifting and sliding around as his expressions changed with each firework. As she watched his reactions play out over his face, Peggy was struck with an intense desire to wrap an arm around his waist and lean against his shoulder, to share this moment the way that a couple—if they could call themselves that—would. Forgetting herself for a moment, she shifted closer, his warmth drawing her in like a moth to a flame. Just as she lifted her arm to wrap around him, though, she looked directly into the lens of a high-powered camera.

 Peggy let out a quiet huff and shifted away, a more respectable distance between her and Steve once more. It was only a few extra inches, but in that moment, it felt like a chasm.

The fireworks continued around the edge of the stadium, and Peggy pulled herself back into the moment, turning her gaze toward the pyrotechnics display above them. After a moment, she felt a brush of fabric against her calf and the slide of smooth leather against the side of her foot.

Steve, ever the perceptive one, had clearly sensed Peggy’s frustration (one that he shared). The touch was small and yet significant. As multicolored lights exploded around them, the concussive blasts blending with the cheers of the crowd until it was impossible to hear one’s own thoughts, Peggy and Steve shared nothing more than a space and a touch, which had to be enough for them, at least for now.

===

_“Good morning, Madam Prime Minister! Here is your schedule for today.” Angie, Peggy’s irrepressible personal secretary, brandished a tablet with the extra flair that accompanied all of her actions. A former actress, Angie had applied to Peggy’s office on a whim during a long dry spell and never looked back, throwing in her lot with Minister Carter. They balanced each other well, Peggy’s sensibility tempering Angie’s constant enthusiasm, and Angie’s effervescence pulling Peggy out of her more pessimistic tendencies. Despite working with Peggy for more than a decade, though, she never quite lost her more dramatic inclinations._

_“Thank you, Angie.” Peggy perused the schedule as she sipped her second tea of the day. “What’s this four-hour block in the middle?”_

_Angie smirked. “I cleared a space for you, for…whatever you want to use it for.”_

_Peggy sniffed haughtily and tried to hide her inadvertent grin behind her cup of tea. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”_

_“Of course not, Madam Prime Minister.” Peggy had never seen such a smug expression on her friend-slash-secretary’s face. Rather than add fuel to the fire, though, Peggy stuck her nose in her cup as they strode down the hallway, steps perfectly synced in a rhythm they had perfected through the years. Angie rattled off relevant bits of information for each of her meetings that day, including Prime Minister’s Questions._

_“Damn, I hate Wednesdays.”_

_Angie pursed her lips and hummed in agreement, suppressing a snort at Peggy’s declaration (which she made every Wednesday morning)._

_“How do I always forget about PMQs, honestly?” Peggy frowned into her tea, as if it was personally responsible for her forgetfulness. Abruptly, she began to pat her pockets with one hand—still holding her tea steady—in search of her cell phone._

_Angie heaved a sigh and pulled Peggy’s phone from her own skirt pocket. “Here is your cell phone, Madam Prime Minister. You handed it to me this morning in exchange for your tea, though I’m not quite sure why. Also, I have taken the liberty of informing your guest of the available gaps in your schedule today, so he is aware that you will be participating in the PMQs instead of meeting him for lunch as planned.”_

_“Bloody Nora,” Peggy yelped, spilling several drops of tea on her white blouse after tripping over her own feet at Angie’s statement. She fixed her secretary with an assessing look, which Angie met head on._

_Peggy opened her mouth to refute whatever assumption Angie was making, but she just laughed. “Don’t even try to deny it, please. It will just be embarrassing for both of us. Just smile and say, ‘Thank you, Angie. You’re amazing.’”_

_Peggy lifted her tea in a mock salute. “Thank you, Angie. You’re amazing.” With a wink, she continued down the hall, already counting the minutes until her open afternoon._

===

“Fish and chips?”

Steve tilted his head up to see Peggy standing above him, a carton of heavenly-smelling fried food in each hand. As if on cue, his stomach growled, and he reached for one of the meals with a sheepish thanks. Peggy chuckled as she slid past him to her own seat, the brush of her thighs against his knees momentarily distracting him from eating.

“Well? What’d I miss?” Peggy prompted Steve with a nudge, who had shaken off the momentary lapse to inhale his fish and chips.

“I couldn’t tell you. I think we’re losing?” he replied before stuffing a handful of fries in his mouth.

Peggy looked down at the pitch for a moment. “I should say so!”

Steve shrugged, still shoveling his fries into his mouth. “It’s not like I know the game at all.” The words were a little hard to understand, given that he was speaking with his mouth full, but they had had enough conversations during rushed dinners to easily decipher the other’s garbled speech. Still, Peggy arched an eyebrow at his bad manners, and Steve pointedly swallowed before continuing, “In fact, I’m not sure why we’re watching rugby at all. Aren’t there swimming races going on right now?”

“This is the first Olympic rugby game between the US and Great Britain in a hundred years,” Peggy said, stuffing a whole filet in her mouth. “Besides, it was my turn to pick, and I love rugby.”

Steve snorted at her blatant hypocrisy, crumbs falling from her lips as she talked around the food in her mouth. Peggy winked and smiled as best she could. Steve rolled his eyes and stole a couple fries from her plate. She let out an indignant grunt and punched his arm.

“Goddamn it, Peg, ow!” he yelped, fumbling with his plate as he tried to keep a firm grip on it while also clutching the wounded arm.

“Whoops.” Peggy was unrepentant. She captured his gaze for a moment, then deliberately turned to face the rugby pitch once again. “It really is unfortunate we’re in public, otherwise I might kiss it better. Among other things.”

Steve choked on a piece of fish, and Peggy smacked him on the back as he coughed.

“Are you quite all right, darling?” Peggy’s tone was concerned, but Steve knew her better than that.

“Yup, fantastic, never been better,” he rasped, pounding his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

“Oh good.” Peggy leaned forward in her seat, elbows on her knees, eyes firmly fixed on the players. A little smirk played across her lips, and Steve grinned at her as he grabbed another handful of fries—his own, this time.

They sat quietly for a moment, the roar of the stadium washing over them.

“So why do you love rugby?”

Peggy grinned, a sharp edge to it that Steve was not used to seeing outside of international summits. “I was a bit of a wild child, and my parents decided that I needed an outlet that did not involve raising Cain in the middle of class. So, they told me to find a sport. I was drawn to the sheer brutality of rugby—”

As Peggy said the word brutality, the whole stadium erupted around them. They looked down at the pitch to see two players lying on the ground, beaten and a little bloody, their groans audible even to the high seats that Steve and Peggy occupied.

Peggy tilted her head toward the commotion. “Case in point.” She sighed wistfully. “That was a memorable semester.”

“So why’d you stop after only a semester/”

Peggy snorted. “Well, I was rather good, but the coach thought I wasn’t much of a ‘team player.’”

“You? Shocking.”

“Rude,” Peggy replied with a frown, though the hand resting on Steve’s thigh told him she didn’t really mind. “The coach was probably right, though. I ran down just as many of our team as our opponents because they weren’t moving fast enough or doing it correctly. So, I took up boxing instead.”

As she spoke, Peggy began to run her thumb along the inside of Steve’s thigh. The touch was gentle, simple, not easily noticed, but Steve felt his breath speed up and his heart rate rise. If she continued, or moved any further up his leg, he would definitely embarrass himself (and probably cost both of them their jobs).

Praying that the cameras were focused on the game rather than the spectators, he threaded his fingers between hers. With their hands still clasped on top of his leg, he leaned over and whispered, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Peggy shuddered as his breath hit a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear. “Who says I can’t finish it?” she replied, looking straight ahead.

Steve returned to his original position, eyes sliding over to trace the slope of Peggy’s neck. “Show me.”

Peggy made a show of checking her watch. She stood up and turned to Steve. “Well, President Rogers, it appears that I have a meeting I must attend. Would you care to walk out with me?”

It took all of Steve’s professionalism and willpower not to jump out of his seat.

===

_“In what may be the strangest piece of news so far during this Olympics, a photo has surfaced that appears to be President Rogers and Prime Minister Carter walking through a hall together. The scenario itself isn’t all that unusual; President Rogers has been a well-documented presence throughout the games thus far, and Prime Minister Carter has been seen at several events. We also know that the two of them get along very well, as both colleagues and friends. None of that, however, provides any explanation or context for this photo.”_

_Both Steve and Peggy winced as the candid photo appeared on the screen in front of them. Simultaneously, Steve’s cell phone began to ring, the tone that was assigned to only one person. Steve swore and scrambled for the phone, lifting it to his ear with a too-casual, “Hey Buck.”_

_“President Rogers.”_

_Peggy, who was resting her chin on Steve’s shoulder, snickered. “Oh, he sounds mad.”_

_Steve shot her a look, and she winked. He sighed but grinned back. “Okay then, Mr. Barnes. What can I do for you?”_

_“Well, sir, we need to discuss the picture.”_

_“And which picture is that? Is this about the selfie? Because this is the 21 st century, and diplomacy can be conducted by all forms of media. Selfies included.”_

_Bucky sighed over the line, and Steve knew for a fact that he was pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache. Peggy smothered a smile in Steve’s shirt, but a small snort still escaped. She must have been louder than she thought, because Bucky sighed even louder and said, “Hello, Madam Prime Minister.”_

_Steve looked back at Peggy, eyes blown wide with a tinge of panic. Peggy shrugged and tapped the speakerphone icon on Steve’s phone. “Hello, Mister Barnes. How are you doing?”_

_“I’ve had better days, but thank you for asking, Madam Prime Minister.” Barnes’ every word was measured, tense, his need to be diplomatic and professional conflicting with his desire to scream at his best friend-slash-boss._

_“Listen, Bucky—“_

_“Steve, I really don’t want to know. I knew this would happen at some point, since you are incapable of anything other than stirring up trouble and making my life harder, and any woman you are attracted to will be the same way. No offense, ma’am.”_

_“None taken, Mr. Barnes.” Peggy shrugged and ran her fingers through the short hairs along Steve’s neck, making him shudder against her front. “Your assessment is not inaccurate.”_

_“I’m just calling to talk damage control. What do you want our statement to be?”_

_Steve craned his neck slightly, sinking further into Peggy’s touch. “I’m pretty sure we can get away with just saying it was photoshopped. No one would actually believe that the Prime Minister would put a hand on the President’s ass.”_

_“I certainly don’t,” Bucky growled under his breath. The comment was clearly not supposed to be audible, so Steve cleared his throat and chose not to respond, even as Peggy chuckled. “Consider it handled, Mr. President. Just for good measure, I’ll have a staffer leak a story about Becca worrying that you’ll die alone. Throw ‘em off any scents they may or may not find.”_

_Steve gave a relieved sigh. “Thanks, Bucky.”_

_“Just doing my job, Mr. President. Enjoy your vacation.”_

_“Goodbye, Mr. Barnes,” Peggy called, but Steve ended the call before she could hear his response._

_“Man, am I in trouble,” Steve muttered as he continued to watch the TV, concentration split between the speculation of the news anchors and Peggy’s warm fingers on the back of his neck._

_“Aren’t you always, darling?”_

_“That’s fair. It hurts, but it’s fair.”_

_They were quiet for a long moment, the only sounds the even drone of the fan and the murmured monotone of the news program._

_“Who’s Becca?” Peggy asked, her voice even._

_“My First Lady,” Steve replied absently. Peggy’s fingers abruptly fell from the back of his head, and Steve sat up at their loss. “What?”_

_Peggy raised an eyebrow. “Your First Lady? Is there something you need to tell me?”_

_“No, no, no, God no,” Steve stammered, stumbling over his words in an attempt to clear the air as fast as possible. “Becca’s Bucky’s kid sister, happily married, three kids, more like a sister to me than anything. If you’re unmarried, you pick a relative or family friend to fulfill the duties of First Lady.”_

_Peggy resumed running her fingers through Steve’s hair. “I actually already knew that. I was just checking. And I do enjoy seeing you flustered.”_

_Steve blushed. He opened his mouth to ask if_ he _had anything to worry about, but he shut his mouth before the words could escape, Based on what he knew about women—admittedly, not much—he decided that it would be within his best interest to keep his mouth shut._

_Instead, he turned around and growled, “I’ll make you flustered.” He wrapped Peggy in his arms and propelled both of them over the back of the couch, landing on his back with Peggy flopping on top of him. Her head popped up, and she stared at him in shock for a long moment before bursting into breathless giggles. Steve laughed too, somewhat shocked that he could still move like that._

_After their giggles dissipated, leaving aching stomachs and wide grins behind, Peggy propped herself up on Steve’s chest and eyed him thoughtfully. He raised an eyebrow, both curious and a little wary of where her thoughts had gone._

_“We should get it framed.”_

_“Wait…what?”_

_“I’m going to get that picture of us framed.”_

_“The one with your hand on my ass?”_

_“I think it’s a moment worth memorializing, don’t you?”_

_Steve rubbed his chin with a soft hum. Peggy slapped his chest, and Steve gasped in mock outrage. He flipped them over so that he loomed over her, teasing grin firmly planted on his lips. He lowered himself inch by inch, until they touched at every possible point of contact._

_“You’ll print a copy for me, right?”_

_“I’m offended you even feel the need to ask,” Peggy replied, pulling his lips down to meet hers._

===

“What are the stakes?”

“Honor. Glory.” Peggy stretched out each of her quads and bounced back and forth on her toes, shaking each arm out and rolling her neck.

Steve mimicked each of her stretches, though his expression was more bemused than fierce. “I don’t get it, Peggy. I thought honor and glory was already decided. Didn’t we just watch the US win the soccer game?”

“Football, Steve!” Peggy yelled, flinging her hands up in the air. “For the love of God, man, it’s a football match. Foot. Ball.” She placed her hands on her hips and fixed Steve with an assessing look. He stopped mid-stretch, a well-founded wariness freezing every muscle. That look usually meant he was either about to be eviscerated or kissed within an inch of his life, but it was impossible to tell which.

“How about we make a wager, Steve?” Peggy piled her hair high on top of her head and tied it securely with an elastic.

“And what’s that?”

“If you win, from this day forward, I will forever refer to the sport as…as _soccer_ ,” Peggy said, miming vomiting. “However, if I win, you will forever refer to the sport as _football_.”

“Alright, you just made this interesting, Carter.”

Peggy straightened her _Team GB_ t-shirt and kicked off her flats—sensible, cute, but not ideal for beating your significant other in a football match. “You bet your ass I did, Rogers. Now, will you put your money where your mouth is?”

Steve slipped off his shoes as well. “Equal footing, you know,” he replied to Peggy’s inquiring look. She threw one of her shoes at his head, which he ducked easily. “I’m pretty sure I can claim that as unsportsmanlike conduct. That’s a penalty.”

Peggy shrugged and grabbed a ball from a nearby cart. “Take it. I’ll consider it a handicap.”

Steve clutched his _Team USA_ shirt above his heart with an offended gasp. “Big words.”

“Not really.” Peggy dropped the ball and moved her feet in a complicated sequence that was too fast for Steve to follow. The ball sailed past his head and hit the net with a quiet _swish_. As Steve stood open-mouthed in disbelief, Peggy strutted to the goal and proceeded to moonwalk the distance between the two goal posts.

“Oh, it’s on now,” Steve growled. He rushed toward Peggy and grabbed her around her waist, spinning her around. She shrieked in surprise as her feet left the ground, but none of the tricks in her well-developed arsenal were enough to dislodge his hold (not that she was actually trying to get away).

Her toes touched the ground, but rather than place her on her feet, Steve dipped her, one warm hand threaded through her increasingly precarious messy bun, the other carefully supporting her back. Her world tilted, and then it spun as Steve slotted his lips against hers, tugging and teasing and driving all thoughts of soccer far from her mind.

She didn’t notice that they were vertical once again until Steve pulled away and maneuvered around her to steal the ball and dribble it toward the opposite goal.

“You’re going to pay for that, Steve Rogers,” Peggy yelled, sprinting after him. If her first few steps were a bit wobbly from that kiss, well, she would never admit such a thing. Despite her lack of equilibrium, she caught up to him easily, snatching the ball from right under his feet and dribbled in the other direction, intent on scoring again. Steve chased after her, but Peggy had run away from a good number of enemy agents back in her MI6 days, and the extra burst of adrenaline that always arrived in the midst of a chase carried her to another perfect goal.

Once again, she did her celebratory moonwalk between the goalposts, and Steve stood nearby, hands on his knees, breathing heavily.

“What’s the matter, Mr. President?” Peggy teased, color high on her cheeks, the tower of hair on top of her head listing to one side. “Can’t keep up?”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Please, Madam Prime Minister. I can do this all day.”

===

_“If you had the opportunity to be an Olympic athlete, Mr. President, what sport would you compete in?”_

_“Gymnastics, probably.”_

_“Really?”_

_Steve nodded. “I was a skinny, sickly kid, could barely lift myself out of bed on my worst days. Buck and I—that’s James Barnes, my Chief of Staff—we would watch the Olympics religiously, and I remember wishing I could be as strong as those gymnasts. I certainly couldn’t do any of those things now, but back when I was in the army, I could probably have done at least some basic gymnastic skills.”_

_“Well, I’m sure there are a great many people who would like to see you as a gymnast, Mr. President.”_

_“Now I have a new strategy for my reelection campaign, thanks, Bob.”_

_“Anytime. Changing topics slightly, you have expressed a great deal of admiration for the spirit of the Olympics. Can you expand a little more on that?”_

_“Absolutely. I think the spirit of the Olympics is one of unity. It certainly fosters national unity—everyone is rooting for their fellow countrymen, and the divisions that normally seem so insurmountable sort of fade into the background. They don’t disappear entirely, of course—two weeks every two years can’t solve the very real problems that every country faces—but they remind us that we all have something in common, something that we are trying to build together.” Steve shifted forward in his seat in excitement. “You see the same thing on an international level. Yes, the Olympics are a competition, but there’s a camaraderie that supersedes rivalries, you know? That allows delegates from almost 200 countries to walk together in the Parade of Nations, that allows a North Korean gymnast to take a selfie with a South Korean gymnast, even though their countries are bitter enemies. Again, the conflicts that divide our world don’t go away during these two weeks, but they become less important. It’s people relating to people, and I think that’s the real spirit of the Olympics.”_

_“You are clearly a very passionate supporter of the Games. You’re even using your vacation days to be here, is that right?”_

_Steve nodded with a self-conscious chuckle. “Yes, I am. I’m not here in any official capacity, just as a major Team USA fan. I thought this would be much more fun than a week at Camp David, honestly.”_

_“You’ve met quite a few athletes on Team USA.”_

_“I have, and what an amazing group of people representing us this year. I’ve had the opportunity to speak with many of them, and I am consistently impressed by their graciousness and openness, and they definitely know how to have a good time. Yesterday, actually, I had brunch with the men’s and women’s soc—umm, football teams.”_

_“I’m sorry, you mean the soccer teams?”_

_Steve nodded ruefully. “Yes, the US football teams.” At the interviewer’s questioning look, he laughed and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “I lost a bet. It’s better not to ask.”_

===

The ceiling fan spun lazily, pushing the lightest of breezes through the dimly lit room. Quiet music played from a speaker somewhere overhead and soft light spilled from the two lamps on either side of the large bed. In the middle, Steve sat upright against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles, scrolling through his tablet with his reading glasses perched precariously on his nose. His arm rested across Peggy’s shoulders, and she slouched against him, their breaths gradually synchronizing. One hand rested on Steve’s thigh, and the other paged through a briefing—non-classified, because Peggy had a foreign national in her bed, a lesson she had learned the hard way.

Peggy squinted to read a poorly-printed portion, and Steve poked her side. “Do you need to borrow my glasses, Peggy?”

Peggy fixed him with an unimpressed look. “I have perfect vision, thank you, Steven. The printer was running out of ink.”

Steve just hummed in response and returned to his tablet. Peggy eyed him distrustfully, attempting to discern whether or not he needed to be tackled in retaliation. Without taking his eyes off whatever he was reading—Peggy knew better than to try and sneak a peek—he leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head. Mollified, Peggy relaxed back into his touch, taking care not to narrow her eyes at the less-readable sections.

Their companionable silence stretched for several more minutes, but eventually Steve powered down his tablet and stretched with a yawn.  Peggy shifted away as she read the last couple pages of the report, the conclusion an unfortunate necessity in order to be completely prepared for the morning meeting.  Once she set the briefing down, she turned back to see Steve pull off his sweater and climb beneath the covers clad in just a pair of sweatpants. Peggy plucked the sweater from the bed and strolled toward the bathroom.

“What, you get a show and I don’t?”

Peggy scoffed over her shoulder. “If I ‘gave you a show,’ you’d get distracted and we wouldn’t get any sleep at all tonight.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” he replied as she disappeared into the bathroom

“Darling, you have an intercontinental flight in the morning, and I have six meetings back to back, because they were all rescheduled so I could spend time with my boyfriend who came to visit from out of town,” Peggy called from the en-suite. She exited the bathroom clad in only the sweater and a pair of underwear, giving Steve an eyeful despite her previous excuses.

She crawled beneath the covers and snuggled close to Steve, twining her legs between his and placing a hand on his bare chest, right over his heart. Steve combed his fingers through her hair and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. Peggy lifted herself slightly and touched her lips to his, a long, slow caress, meant more to show affection than to arouse. She pulled away and rested her forehead on his. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

Steve pecked her lips and placed a hand on her cheek, his thumb rubbing along the line of her jaw. “I do, too. But unfortunately, the country won’t run itself.”

Peggy snorted and returned to her previous position. “No, but we can dream.”

“I’m really gonna miss you, Peg. Skype just isn’t the same.” Steve’s voice was almost inaudible over the drone of the fan, but Peggy felt her heart sink once she parsed out exactly what he said.

Peggy pulled him a little closer and buried her face in his chest. “Oh darling, I’ll miss you too.”

They laid there in the silence for a long time, and Peggy felt Steve’s breathing even out. She assumed that he had fallen asleep, and she could feel herself about to go the same way, when she heard him whisper, “Peg, would you be opposed to waking up early?”

“What? Why?”

“Well, I thought we could have a little fun before I had to leave.”

Peggy grunted and poked him in the chest. “You’ll have to make it pretty damn impressive to get me on board, especially before my tea.”

Steve snorted and patted her head. “That I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the months-long wait, but I hope it was worth it!
> 
> Some notes:  
> -the coaches for the foreign dignitaries are a real thing that actually happened at the London Olympics. Seriously, you can't make this stuff up.  
> -The mentioned selfie was inspired by President Obama, David Cameron, and Helle Thorning-Schimdt at Nelson Mandela's funeral  
> -The picture of Peggy's hand on Steve's ass was completely thanks to @steggyisimmortal  
> -Bob is a very obvious reference to Bob Costas, America's most comforting news anchor (seeing him on my TV screen feels like coming home)  
> -Steve as a gymnast is also @steggyisimmortal's fault  
> -Steve's interview with Bob Costas is inspired by President Obama's pre-Olympics interview  
> -Steve meeting with Team USA is inspired by Secretary John Kerry's visit with Team USA Swimming
> 
>  
> 
> I am on tumblr at thesokovianaccords, if you are into that sort of thing...
> 
> Please let me know what you thought, and thank you for reading!!


	6. A Dropped Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to take-me-to-ny for listening to me whine about this chapter for months, you are the best <3
> 
> This chapter is based on a particular episode of Scandal, which is why it's structured this way.
> 
> I hope you enjoy (and I hope it was worth the seven month wait...I have no excuse :/)

**A Dropped Call**

**_April 29 th – 8:15 pm EDT_ **

The beginning riff of The Clash’s “London Calling” echoed through the room, and everyone froze mid-sentence. Steve, hands tangled in a half-tied bowtie, jumped away from the cell phone vibrating against his desk. He swore under his breath and gestured frantically at the still-ringing phone. The members of the National Security Council all shifted away, some more obviously than others, until White House Chief of Staff James Barnes was the closest to the desk.

He glared at Steve, who tried to shrug apologetically, but instead managed to cut off his air supply. He gasped and frantically tried to dislodge the small piece of fabric from around his neck.

Bucky rolled his eyes and snatched the phone off the desk. “President Rogers’ phone, this is his Chief of Staff speaking.”

Steve grimaced and, still coughing, yanked on the silk tie until it ripped, the pieces drifting to the floor. He took a deep, relieved breath, and motioned the rest of the NSC out of the Oval Office.

“Thanks, guys,” he whispered as Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, phone held slightly away from his ear. “We’ll pick this up after the dinner. This call is just the first of many we’ll have to deal with over the coming days. I’d like a report on the source of the leak—this Miles Lydon kid—on my desk by 7:00 tomorrow morning, as well as a full analysis of media coverage and of the national security implications. See you all tomorrow.”

Once the room was clear, Steve squared his shoulders and reached for the phone. Bucky nodded and said, “Sorry to interrupt, ma’am, but Steve’s now available to talk to you.”

“Oh, now he’s ready to talk to me,” the woman on the other line shouted, and both men winced.

“Here he is.” Bucky shoved the phone into Steve’s hand hurriedly, uninterested in continuing to hear the lecture clearly meant for Steve.

“Hey Peggy.”

=====

Peggy was furious. She had been rudely woken early in the morning when the story broke, and her dark mood had only increased every hour, as she sat through meetings and strategy sessions full of equally angry and sleep-deprived politicians and staffers.

“How dare you,” she hissed into her phone, heels clicking as she paced around her now empty office.

His sigh rattled over the line, followed by the quiet click of a closing door and the shuffle of footsteps. “Listen, Peggy—”

“Spying on your own citizens? Your colleagues and friends? I can’t believe you would do something so stupid!”

“Now wait a minute—” Steve growled, an engine revving in the background.

“What were you thinking? How reckless and irresponsible and hypocritical—”

“Oh, please.” She couldn’t see him, but she could _hear_ Steve rolling his eyes an ocean away. “First of all, don’t act like you’re surprised. We’re doing the exact same thing every other country in the world is doing, including you. Don’t get all high and mighty with me—we just happened to have our programs leaked to the press by a contractor. I inherited the program from my predecessor, as you well know, and no, it wasn’t perfect, but you would have done the exact same thing in my situation. And last time I checked, I’m the President of the United States, and I run my country as I see fit. I don’t report to you, thank you very much.”

Peggy picked up a pen from her desk and threw it at the wall. In her mind, the pen hit him between the eyes. “And monitoring my phone calls and personal correspondence? How do you justify that, _Mister President_?”

Fabric rustled against leather seats. “I didn’t—it was never—”

She scoffed. “Spare me your sad attempts at bullshit, Rogers. If you stop trying to spin this for a second, you’ll realize why I’d be so upset. Beyond the obvious breach of trust and invasive surveillance.”

The line was silent.

“ _You_ call me on this phone, Steve. This—this could ruin everything. I could lose my job, my credibility, any shred of respect people have for me around the world. Do you have any idea—I am the _second_ woman to be Prime Minister. Ever.  I could ruin the careers of all future female politicians with this scandal. You know I didn’t want to tell anyone, but now it could come out anyway. Because of a program you refused to dismantle!”

“Everything was classified—”

“Well, fat lot of good that does us, hmm? The existence of the surveillance programs was classified too, right?”

“They don’t record the calls.”

Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to relieve the pressure growing behind her eyes. She didn’t need a stress migraine on top of the current crisis. “But they do keep a record of the phone numbers and the duration of the conversations. How would it look if I spent two hours on the phone with a Washington, DC, number—one that belongs to the _President_ —almost every night?”

On the other end of the call, she could hear the click of a door latch and the excited cheers of a crowd. There was a soft rustle of fabric—presumably Steve exiting the limo—and he sighed. “What do you want me to say, Peggy? What’s done is done, I can’t—”

There was a loud pop, almost like a car backfiring. Peggy heard Steve gasp, take a choking breath, and then there was a deafening crunch.

Peggy held her breath, trying to hear something, _anything_ , on the other end, but it was silent.

“Steve?” Peggy heard her voice break, but she couldn’t stop. “Steve? Steve!” 

 

**“We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you a special report. Five minutes ago, shots were fired at the entrance to the Washington Hilton, just as the President was arriving for the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. President Rogers has been taken to George Washington University Hospital, where he is being treated for undisclosed injuries. Press Secretary Darcy Lewis and Agent Pietro Maximoff of the Secret Service were also injured in the shooting—their status is unknown. We’ll be with you all night here, bringing updates as soon as we receive them.”**

 

**_April 30 th – 12:05 pm BST_ **

“Vice President Sam Wilson for you, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Angie.” Peggy took a fortifying breath and picked up the phone. All she had to do was get through this call without breaking down or revealing just how invested she was in Steve’s current status. “Hello, Mr. Wilson.”

“Ms. Carter, it’s a pleasure to speak with you.”

Peggy smiled despite herself. Much of her interaction with the administration had been conducted through Steve, but she had always liked Wilson—thoughtful, no-nonsense, but always ready with a witty one-liner. “Likewise, though I certainly wish it were under better circumstances. On behalf of the entire United Kingdom and myself, I would like to extend our deepest wishes for President Rogers’ best health and a speedy recovery, and the same for Ms. Lewis and Agent Maximoff.”

“Thank you, Ms. Carter.”

“I’d also like to wish you luck as you navigate the next few months. I know this can’t be an easy time for you.”

Wilson huffed out a laugh. “No. No it isn’t.”

“Well, if you need assistance of any kind, you know where to find me. I know you will govern well in Steve—President Rogers’ absence, but it never hurts to have a friend in your corner.”

“Yes ma’am, I really appreciate—” He let out an odd, strangled cough and took a deep breath through his nose.

“Mr. Wilson, are you all right?”

He took another deep breath and rasped, “Last night, Steve got his fingers all tangled up in his bowtie when he got a phone call right before he left. He, uh, ripped the tie in half as he tried to get it off, and the pieces are still—are still on the floor.”

Peggy bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to laugh at the image of Steve dressed to the nines, hopelessly entangled in his own tie as his phone rang nearby. Instead, she felt her throat close and tears gather at the corners of her eyes as she pictured the pieces of a ripped tie discarded on the carpet of the Oval Office, left by a man who may never come back to pick them up.

“Do you have any updates?” Peggy asked, praying the quaver in her voice was audible only to her. “Off the record, of course. I just thought you might have something more than ‘the president remains in critical condition.’”

Wilson cleared his throat. “I don’t have much more than that. Have you tried calling Barnes? He’s been with Steve since—since it happened.”

He rattled off the digits, and Peggy scribbled the number down on what might have been an official copy of the trade agreement with Canada.

“Thank you, Mr. Wilson,” she said, her hand shaking with urgency.

“It never hurts to have a friend in your corner,” he said, a smile curving the edge of his words.

“Quite.” She grinned, despite her nerves. “Whatever you need, you know who to call.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After Wilson hung up, Peggy dialed the number carefully, her fingers trembling against the buttons. Thankfully, Barnes answered on the second ring. “James Barnes.”

“James? It’s Peggy Carter.”

Over the line, she heard a quiet conversation and then the squeak of leather shoes against tile. “Madam Prime Minister?”

“None of that, please. I’m not calling in any official capacity, I just—need to know how he’s doing.”

James sighed. “It’s not great, Peggy. He made it through surgery, but he’s still in critical condition. He lost a lot of blood, and one of the bullets hit him in the head. They can’t assess any sort of brain damage or anything until he wakes up. _If_ he wakes up. They can’t even tell me if he will.”

“Oh my god.” Peggy clapped a hand over her mouth, and the tears she had been holding back since she first heard that gunshot echoing in her ear spilled over. She collapsed back into her chair and clasped the phone to her chest as she broke into painful, heaving sobs.

After half a minute or so, Peggy took two deep breaths and pinched the bridge of her nose. This was neither the time nor the place to fall apart, even though Barnes’ solemn words played on a loop in her head. She cleared her throat and lifted the receiver to her ear. “Pardon me, I had to step away for a moment.”

“I understand,” he replied graciously.

Peggy cleared her throat again and ran a finger under each eye, catching a few errant tears. “Listen, James, you and I both know Steve Rogers is the single most stubborn person on Earth. He’ll pull through, even if it’s out of sheer spite.”

Barnes’ chuckle was sandpaper-rough. “I hope you’re right, Peggy. But if anyone could, it’d be him.”

“That’s right,” Peggy sighed. “James, are you taking care of yourself? I know you’ve been there the whole time. Have you slept? Eaten?”

“Yeah, yeah I have,” he replied quietly, his tone weary. “We’re sitting with him in shifts. Makes things a bit easier.”

“We?”

“Well, you remember the Howlies, right?”

**_Christmas Eve – last year_ **

_The stares were disconcerting._

_Peggy was a public figure, so she was used to having eyes on her. The transition from spy to politician, from the shadows to the spotlight, had been difficult, but it was now second nature to ignore the whirring of cameras and the dull roar of voices that followed wherever she went. Writing policy speeches on the fly and giving extemporaneous addresses about complex issues became rote, the words always flowing easily._

_This, though, was new. Peggy shifted her weight from one leg to the other as Steve’s former unit stared down at her, each of their faces marked with different degrees of confusion. Peggy opened her mouth to say something—anything—but everything that came to mind was either wholly inappropriate or embarrassingly inane. In that moment, as she engaged in an awkward staring contest with Steve’s oldest friends, she wished for her speechwriter._

_Before she could stick her foot in her mouth, she felt a large hand on the small of her back. Peggy sank into the soft touch as the warmth of Steve’s presence behind her chased away the chill of the December air._

_“Guys, maybe let Peggy through instead of just standing there staring? And will someone please give me my goddamn phone back? There could be a crisis brewing on the Korean peninsula this very minute and I wouldn’t know.”_

_Peggy snorted. It was ludicrous to think that his staff wouldn’t have at least four different contingency plans to get in touch with him, the first of which a call to his Chief of Staff, who was literally in the same room as him._

_Someone cleared their throat, and Peggy snapped her head up to see everyone staring at her once again. Her cheeks were warm as she said, “Did I say that out loud?”_

_The largest of the group burst into a deep, full-body laugh. “I like her, Cap.” He wrapped an arm around Peggy’s shoulder and directed her toward the kitchen. “Let me get you a scotch. I’m Tim.”_

_Behind them, Peggy heard several snickers, a smattering of French, and a voice she didn’t recognize call, “Nobody’s called you Tim in thirty years, Dum Dum!”_

_Her companion heaved a sigh and scratched his large, ginger moustache with his free hand. “Jones doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”_

_Once they reached the kitchen, Peggy ducked under his arm to grab one of the many alcohol bottles lining the counter. “I’m sure he doesn’t, Dum Dum,” she replied as she poured herself three fingers. She spun around to see him frowning at the rest of the men filing into the kitchen._

_“Now you’ve done it,” he groused, elbowing one of them—Jones, probably—in the side. “I was just trying to make a good impression on the Cap’s lady friend.”_

_Peggy choked on her drink, the scotch burning as it went down the wrong pipe. “His what?”_

_“Well, you are a lady and his friend, aren’t you?” The speaker had an accent quite similar to her own—probably Falsworth, going by Steve’s letter that had brought her here to begin with._

_Peggy hummed noncommittally into her glass and avoided Steve’s gaze. She knew he hadn’t said anything about their relationship to anyone, except—_

_She fixed Barnes with her darkest look, the very expression known to have convinced the French president to take her side on the free trade agreement with Canada during fraught negotiations. His eyes widened, and he shook his head vigorously._

_“Peggy and I are_ friends _,” Steve interjected, rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe you guys.”_

_“We all saw the photo, Cap. You think we actually bought that hand on your ass was photoshopped?”_

_“Jim!” Steve hissed, and Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose. With a firm nod to herself, she reached for the scotch again. The conversation that would inevitably dominate the evening, the inpossible defense she and Steve were about to mount, would be much better if she had more alcohol first._

**“We have just received an update from our team at George Washington University Hospital. President Rogers is out of surgery, though his condition is still described as critical. Agent Pietro Maximoff and Press Secretary Darcy Lewis, who were also wounded in the shooting outside the Hilton, are both in stable condition. Vice President Sam Wilson released a statement this morning, in which he thanked the American people for their thoughts and prayers and best wishes for the President’s health. He also included a defiant message for the perpetrators: the United States of America will never be scared into submission by any act of terror.**

**_April 30 th – 4:30 BST_ **

 “Enough!” Peggy slammed the file shut in front of her. Everyone around the table jumped in their seats at her outburst, and she couldn’t help her feeling of satisfaction. As she stormed out of the conference room, she heard Angie offer apologies and the excuse of another matter that required her urgent attention.

“And they wonder why so many Britons want to leave the bloody Union! What a bunch of useless, empty-headed, stuck-up, narcissistic, robot bastards! They couldn’t find their own arses if they were given a bloody map!” Peggy dropped into her office chair with a huff and glared at the stacks of paper strewn across her desk, each demanding her attention immediately. She grabbed a report at random, but the latest white paper on cyber warfare seemed to be nothing more than a bunch of random words strung together.

Peggy tossed the report down in disgust, unable to focus long enough to comprehend the analysis. Her gaze slid to her personal phone, which hadn’t rung once since her conversation with Barnes hours before. With a frustrated sigh, she pushed the phone aside and picked up the report again, determined to get _something_ done after that disaster of a meeting.

She was only one paragraph in when she heard a loud knock on her office door. Peggy swore, inventively, and dropped her head on her desk.

“Come in,” she shouted, the words muffled by the oak.

“I thought you might like a cup of tea, ma’am.” Angie’s voice was tentative, as if Peggy were a bomb waiting to be detonated by a wrong word. 

“I would love a cup, Angie, thank you,” Peggy sighed. She took the proffered cup and saucer gratefully. With her other hand, she reached into her bottom desk drawer for the bottle of bourbon she always kept on hand for emergencies. She poured a healthy splash of alcohol into the cup and looked up to see Angie watching her expectantly.

“Yes, Ms. Martinelli?” Peggy snapped.

Angie raised a single eyebrow. “The EU delegation has agreed to reschedule the meeting you stormed out of today, and they have also agreed, even more graciously, to make no mention of how this particular meeting ended.”

“ _Shit_.” Peggy took a long sip of her spiked tea. “Thank you, Angie.”

Angie tilted her head and hummed thoughtfully. “It’s okay to be worried, you know.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Angie shot her an exasperated glance, and Peggy sighed. “Right. I’m—well, I’m a bit of a mess today, aren’t I?”

Angie shrugged and took a seat on the other side of the desk. “Your words, not mine, English.”

“Yes, well—” Peggy rubbed her forehead and took a deep breath.

“Have you heard anything new?”

“Nothing. Barnes said he would keep me updated, but—” Peggy lifted one shoulder and stared hard into her teacup. “We were on the phone, you know. When he, uh—when he was shot.”

Angie gasped, but Peggy couldn’t meet her eyes. “I was so angry, Angie. I called him reckless and irresponsible and hypocritical. I threw a pen at the wall and _imagined it hitting him between the eyes_.”

Angie placed a soft hand over Peggy’s and squeezed gently. Peggy returned the gesture gratefully. “We don’t even know if he’s going to wake up. What if that was our last conversation?”

“Oh, Peggy—”

Peggy dropped the teacup into the saucer, ignoring the splash of hot liquid on her trembling fingers. “The worst of it is, I’m still so angry with him. The surveillance, his lack of awareness of the consequences to me personally, and the fact that I don’t actually have the moral high ground here. But mostly, I’m _furious_ that he’s leaving me alone to deal with the fallout from his own assassination attempt. What kind of person does that make me, to be pissed off at a person fighting for their life because they’re fighting for their life?”

 

**_One month ago_ **

_Peggy’s hands shook as the reached for her phone and dialed._

_“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she pleaded, her throat constricting with each ring. Finally, after four rings, she heard a familiar voice: “This is Steve.”_

_Peggy opened her mouth, but she couldn’t force any words past her lips. She let out a breath that sort of sounded like his name._

_“Peggy? What’s wrong?”_

_“S—Steve. Steve. I—I can’t—”_

_“Okay. Are you hurt?”_

_Peggy shook her head, forgetting he couldn’t see her. He called her name, loudly, and she clenched her fists in her sheets. “No.”_

_“Are you in danger?”_

_Peggy gritted her teeth as her dream flashed before her eyes. “No, but—”_

_Steve let out a breath. “Okay. Can you breathe with me, Peggy?” He took long, slow breaths, and Peggy concentrated on matching his careful cadence—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale._

_As they breathed together, the roar in Peggy’s ears faded, and the darkness was a little lighter on her shoulders, and her gristly nightmare took on the translucent quality of unreality._

_After a while, Peggy dropped her death grip on the sheets and ran a hand through her hair. “Thank you.”_

_“God, Peg. You can call me anytime, day or night. You never need to thank me for that. I was just so worried. I thought—”_

_“I know. I’m sorry.”_

_“No, that’s not—I’m just glad you aren’t hurt. Tell me what happened?”_

_Peggy winced and wrapped an arm around her knees, the other clutching her phone tightly. “It was a nightmare.”_

_Steve sighed, the line crackling with the force of it, and Peggy winced. The burden of leadership was a heavy one, and she knew she was not alone in the sleepless nights and the cold sweats and the horrifying images that appeared every time she closed her eyes. She would feel ridiculous for calling at all, if it weren’t for her trembling hands and uncertainty that the dream was fiction, not a terrifying new reality._

_“Past or future?”_

_Peggy squeezed the phone, wishing in that moment it was Steve’s hand. “It wasn’t past, but I never want to see this future, Steve.”_

_He groaned. “One of those.”_

_She bit her lip and nodded. “There was an article yesterday— about what would happen in event of a devastating attack on the UK—that talked about the letters of last resort.” She took a deep breath, to steady the tremor in her voice and to collect her thoughts. It would be so easy to tell him everything. Her whole professional life had been one secret stacked upon another, and this weighed heaviest of all. She_ wanted _to share the words she had written by hand on her first day in office, every stroke of her pen a lead weight on her chest. And he was right there, ready to help her shoulder that burden without a thought._

_But as tempting as the thought was, Peggy had a responsibility to her country and her office, and no matter how she trusted Steve, those letters were hers to carry._

_“I dreamed of an attack,” she said, the tremors in her hands spreading throughout her body as the dream replayed in her head.  “Westminster was rubble, communications were down, I was alone in a bunker. My staff, my cabinet—they just hadn’t been fast enough, or they were in the chamber. They were all gone.”_

_“Peggy—”_

_“And there were these TV screens covering every wall, and each one showed a different capital burning. Beijing, Rio, Brussels, Cairo, London. I just sat there, useless, as the world fell to pieces before my eyes. My people needed me to lead, and all I could do was sit there and watch as they were killed.”_

_Peggy closed her eyes as a fresh wave of tears threatened to escape. Her throat constricted, and breathing was once again a herculean task.  “There was this one wall that had two TVs. One just—it played a loop of Westminster crumbling, over and over. Every time, it was like being buried all over again, the roof dropping inch by inch, a collapse coming any moment. And the second—” She trailed off, desperately trying to hold back the sob at the back of her throat._

_“You don’t—”_

_“There were missiles. Lots of them, I don’t know how many. They blew up the White House. Explosions blew out all the windows, and the roof disappeared in the flames and the smoke and it was impossible to see if there was anything left. But then the explosions didn’t stop—bombs planted beneath the grounds or something, I don’t know. But I knew that no one would survive. That you wouldn’t survive._

_“Do you know how it felt, Steve? To be a whole ocean away as you died, unable to say goodbye, unable to tell you how much you mean to me? To be helpless in the face of the worst tragedy known to mankind—it all felt so real.”_

_“Listen, Peggy, it was just a dream. We’re alive, we’re okay. You’re at home, Westminster still stands, none of it was real. I promise.”_

_Peggy took a deep breath and lay back against her pillow, her mind finally settling as Steve’s words washed over her. “Thank you. I—It helps, to hear you say that.”_

_“You know, I have those dreams too. I get it. We carry the weight of the world on our shoulders every day. Lives hang in the balance of our decisions. But I promise you this, Peggy. You will never have to weather a crisis like this alone. I’ve got your back, both as the President and as your partner.”_

_Peggy curled up among the blankets. Steve’s voice was warm and soft, and her whole body relaxed into the mattress as he spoke. “Same goes, Rogers,” she murmured, the fading adrenaline making it difficult to respond with an equally robust promise._

_His answering laugh surrounded Peggy, a poor substitute for the feel of his arms around her, but enough that her eyes began to drift shut of their own accord._

_“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep for a few more hours?”_

_Peggy hummed and sunk further into the mattress. “Hmm, maybe. What are you doing today?”_

_“Fundraising luncheon, unfortunately. It’s been so boring, it’s actually painful.”_

_“Wait a minute,” Peggy said, feeling a little slow on the uptake, “Are you there right now?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Steve!”_

_“What? I made a graceful exit.  If anyone asks, I’ll just say it was urgent, a developing situation or something. I knew if you were calling me at this hour it was important. Besides, I’d always rather talk to you.”_

_If she weren’t so tired, Peggy would press the point. Instead, her face flushed and grinned into her pillow at the certainty in his tone. “Steve—”_

_“Get some sleep, Peg. I’m not going anywhere. How about I tell you about the speakers at this luncheon? You’ll be out like a light—”_

**_April 30 th – 4:45 BST_ **

Peggy clutched the sides of the podium, her fingernails digging into the old wood. The press room was unusually quiet, camera shutters clicking sporadically and reporters sitting quietly in their chairs rather than clamoring to be heard over one another.

“Thank you all for being here,” Peggy said, relieved that her voice didn’t waver. “As you all know, less than twenty-four hours ago, an unknown party attempted to assassinate President Rogers. Thankfully, they were unsuccessful.”

Peggy smiled slightly as people relaxed into their seats at her statement, the tension momentarily broken. “I spoke with Vice President Wilson earlier today, and I offered him any support or assistance the United Kingdom is able to provide. It is times like these—times of uncertainty and fear—that we must remember the ties that bind us. The UK has a long and glorious tradition of cooperation and friendship with the United States, and in their time of need, we stand alongside them. 

“The investigation is ongoing, but it is clear that the attempt on President Rogers’ life was meant to sow fear and discord, to destabilize, to create chaos. We are in the midst of uncertain times, as the values that underpin our societies—democracy, freedom of speech, an independent press, free trade, cultural exchange—are under attack. There are those who wish to remake the world in their favor, and we liberal democracies stand in their way. As well we should. We have fought long and hard for generations to create a freer world, a safer world, and a more open world. And we’re not done yet, not by a long shot. But nothing, not even this, will deter us from our goal.”

Peggy thought of Steve, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and the possibility that the assassin and their employers were watching her speak. She leaned forward with intent, her jaw set in absolute conviction. “So today, I stand before you and make a promise. To the United States, and to all our allies who join us in this fight, we are with you. This is our guarantee—we are committed, we are invested, and we will not back down.

“Freedom. Democracy. Human rights. Multilateralism. The rule of law. These aren’t empty words bandied about in international summits. These are ideas that have the power to change the world—in fact, they already have. And they will continue to do so, but only if we defend them.  And that is exactly what we are going to do.”

Peggy nodded her thanks and stepped away from the podium, the previously silent room erupting into a cacophony of clicking cameras and shouted questions. On any other day, in any other press briefing, Peggy would have planted herself behind that podium and fielded question after question from the reporters in the room, deflecting and laughing and playing the game she knew well after more than a decade in politics.

But there were bits of wood under her fingernails from the unfinished wood of the podium, and her hands trembled as she exited the press room. She held herself together until the door closed behind her, but the moment she was out of sight of the press corps, she tipped toward the wall, her legs losing their strength.

“Woah. Easy there, English.” Angie’s arm wrapped around Peggy’s waist and pulled her upright

Peggy shook her head and stepped out of her high heels. “I’m fine, Angie. Just had a moment.” She took a deep, steadying breath to dispel the momentary light-headedness. “Do you think it was enough?”

Angie pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Too soon to tell, but it was certainly impassioned. The entire press corps was hanging on your every word, and so far, social media response has been overwhelmingly positive. I think it will go a long way to reassure our allies facing increased hostile cyber activity, not to mention physical encroachment on their borders.”

“Thank God.” Peggy picked up her discarded heels and ran her fingers through her hair with her free hand, sending her curls into disarray. “Angie, I think I’m going to call it early today. If there’s any updates—”

“We know where to find you. Try to get some sleep.”

Peggy lifted her heels in a faux salute and wandered down the halls toward the residence. She yawned and threw the shoes over her shoulder as she walked through the door to her private quarters, completely unaware of the clatter of the expensive pumps on the old hardwood floor. She shrugged out of her blazer with a heavy sigh, letting it drift to the floor as she made a beeline for her favorite kettle. Once the water was on its way to boiling, Peggy sagged against the wall and surveyed the room, suddenly drained of the last few drops of energy she had left.

The jacket crumpled on the floor caught her eye, and for a split second, she thought of a ripped, discarded bowtie. Peggy inhaled sharply and snatched it from the floor. She flung open the doors to her closet and reached for the first available hanger, only to pull out a familiar red scarf. The jacket slid from her fingers, forgotten, as she wrapped the scarf—her first gift from Steve—around her shoulders. It was a poor substitute for the warmth of his embrace, but as she fixed herself a cup of tea and checked her phone yet again for any updates from James, the soft red fabric was a reminder, an implicit promise that Steve would find his way back to her again.

He had to.

 

**_One year ago_ **

_The scarf was an excellent wardrobe choice._

_There hadn’t been any particular forethought behind the decision. She had had a very late night and an early morning trip back to her room in the Blair House, and the red scarf had been an easy accessory to pull her outfit together in the five spare minutes before her first meeting of the day._

_The way Steve’s eyes brightened and his lips curled into a soft smile at the sight of his first gift to her warmed Peggy right down to her toes._

_Even better, though, was the way he grinned—a bit dark, a bit dirty—as he tugged her back into the Oval Office by the ends of the scarf after their last meeting of the day._

_“Steve,” she hissed as he maneuvered her over to his desk, pausing every few seconds to press his lips to her cheek or her lips or her forehead. “Steve, we’ll be seen!”_

_“Nah, we’re good,” he murmured. Peggy’s stomach dropped as he slid one hand under her ass and lifted her off the ground effortlessly. He deposited her gently on the smooth, flat surface of the desk, her calves rubbing against the famous etching of the presidential seal._

_“Steve,” she gasped, resting a hand on his chest as he nudged her knees apart with a playful kiss to her nose._

_“Yes, Peggy?” He unwrapped her scarf slowly, placing open-mouthed kisses on each new inch of skin he revealed._

_“When you—” she stopped to clear her throat, trying to dispel the slight tremble in her voice as he nipped at the mark that had necessitated a scarf in the first place. “When you say we’re good—”_

_Steve sighed and pulled away. “I mean, almost everyone has already gone home, and those who haven’t either already know or could never get past the impenetrable wall that is James Buchanan Barnes. Okay?”_

_Peggy reached up and ran her fingers through the short strands at the back of his neck, pleased with the slight shiver that she saw run down his spine. “I was just checking, darling. You know me—trust, but verify, and all that.”_

_Steve laughed, his head falling back and his shoulders shaking. “You can take the girl out of the spy game, but—”_

_“Yes, quite.” Peggy rolled her eyes and hooked her leg around Steve’s hip, yanking him back toward her. She was tired of having him too far away, even by a few inches. He stumbled with the force of her pull, hands dropping to the desktop to keep him from crushing her as he fell forward._

_She stared up at him as his arms caged her in, his chest brushing against hers with every breath and her legs wrapped tight around his hips. He was solid and warm and_ hers _—hers to touch and to embrace and to kiss and to make love to. Not a face on a screen or a voice over the phone, but flesh and blood, standing between her thighs, molding her lips to his, long fingers laced through hers._

_It was a heady feeling, to be surrounded by Steve Rogers._

_Their noses brushed as he hovered over her, eyes dark with intent. He shifted slightly, eyes falling closed as he brushed his lips against hers. Peggy sighed into the gentle contact, but before he could kiss her again, a thought drifted across her mind that, to her horror, made her giggle against his lips._

_Steve leaned back and lifted a single eyebrow at her as she dissolved into laughter, even as she mourned the loss of his lips on her skin. “What?”_

_Peggy waved a hand at him as she tried to regulate her breathing and stop laughing, a largely unsuccessful endeavor. “I’m sorry, Steve, darling. I’m sorry…I just—your desk, and then I thought about where it came from, and—“_

_She broke off with a snort, but she was too far gone to even be embarrassed. “—and then I thought…what would Queen Victoria think?”_

_“Oh my God.”_

_Peggy’s stomach was starting to ache, but she laughed even harder at Steve’s long-suffering look to the ceiling. “Would…would she be impressed at how well it supports goodwill and friendship between our countries?”_

_“C’mon Peggy, seriously?”_

_She gasped, trying to catch her breath as a few tears of mirth escaped. “Or…or how it really facilitates our—our special relationship?”_

_She heard a deep, dry chuckle above her, and she glanced up to see Steve shake his head with a large grin. The giggles died in her throat as she stared up at him, suddenly breathless for a much different reason. Even as he let out a rueful laugh at her reference, he met her gaze with a loaded look, a look that promised everything she ever wanted, if she would just reach out and grab it._

_“Steve.” Peggy reached up to cup the back of his neck, but just before her hand reached its destination, she thought of a much better solution. She patted the surface of the desk blindly, until she felt silky fabric between her fingers. She looped the scarf around his neck and tugged him down to her level, biting his lip playfully._

_Steve groaned into her mouth as she slipped her tongue between the seam of his lips. He pulled away, his chest heaving slightly against hers. He dropped his forehead against hers, collecting his breath. With a sly grin and a wink, he threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of her head and tilted her back onto the top of the desk. “How about we make Queen Victoria_ really _impressed?”_

_“President Rogers,” she replied, stomach dropping as his eyes darkened with desire at the sound of his title on her lips, “I like the way you think.”_

**_May 2 nd  – 2:15 am BST_ **

Peggy read another sentence of the white paper and glanced at her phone expectantly. The screen stayed dark, and Peggy threw down her pen in frustration. Between her worry for Steve and the five cups of caffeinated tea she drank after the press conference, sleep was elusive at best, and she was liable to drive herself crazy constantly checking for updates that still didn’t come.

She refocused on the document at hand with a shake of her head. She made it about halfway through the sentence only to realize it was the same one she had read just seconds before.

Peggy swore and reached for her phone. She had never been one for passively waiting when there was action to be taken.

“This is James.”

“It’s me. Is there any news?”

His rueful chuckle echoed over the line. “I had a feeling I would be hearing from you sooner rather than later.”

“Well, if you were expecting my call, why didn’t you simply call me yourself?” If her tone was a bit more snappish than usual, she supposed she could be forgiven under the circumstances.

He sighed, and there was a rustle of fabric and a scrape of a chair against the floor. “I didn’t want to give you false hope, Peggy. I’m sorry. I told you I would call when I had an update. There just…haven’t been any.”

Peggy deflated, sinking back into her desk chair. “You’re right. It’s just—torturous to be so far away.”

“Peggy—”

“It probably comes as no surprise to you that I have never done well with problems I cannot beat into submission.”

“No, ma’am,” he coughed, though she could hear the laugh he had tried to mask. “No, it does not.”

Peggy scrubbed a hand over her face and groaned. Her eyes were dry and sore from so many hours without sleep, and she felt uneven, jittery, like she was liable to vibrate out of her own skin—probably from too many cups of extra-caffeinated tea. “I wish there was something I could do. I have access to so much, so many important and powerful resources and associates, but I can’t do a bloody thing with any of them.”

“God, you and Steve are a lot alike.” Barnes cleared his throat. “We caught your statement, you know. Actually played it in the hospital room. The doctors said that sometimes patients can hear—anyway, if Steve were able, he would have said the exact same things. We’re in crisis mode here. Wilson’s trying to keep us from collapsing from within right now, and we don’t have the ability to extend our focus outward.

“I’m sure that on some level, you already know this, but you are essential right now, right where you are. Your show of strength, your defense of liberal democracy, your commitment—it’s crucial to international security. You say you aren’t doing anything, but that’s not true at all. In fact—”

There was a distant commotion on Barnes’ end of the call. Peggy heard quick, heavy footsteps and an unknown voice shout, “Mr. Barnes, the President—”

Barnes swore. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I have to go.”

“Wait, James, what is it? What’s happening?” There was no response, and she pulled the phone away from her ear to see that he had disconnected the call.

Peggy clutched the armrest of her desk chair, suddenly lightheaded. She dialed Barnes’ number, her hand shaking, but she went straight to his voicemail. She tried again, her vision blurring and her fingers pressing the wrong numbers.

It took her three tries to get the correct phone number, but he still didn’t answer.

“Steve,” Peggy gasped, unable to draw a breath, like all the air had been knocked out of her lungs. “Oh God, no. _Steve._ ”

 

**_One year ago_ **

_“Steve!”_

_Her voice echoed through the expanse of the Rotunda of the National Archives Museum. He straightened from where he had been leaning against one of the displays and spun on his heel to face her. Peggy felt her cheeks heat as he smiled at her, an easy grin that lit up his whole face._

_“You’re late!” he called over the quick click-clack of her heels against the marble floors._

_“I know, darling. I’m terribly sorry. Those bloody senators of yours really love the sound of their own voices.” Peggy skidded the last few feet, right into Steve’s open arms. He caught her with a laugh and pulled her into his chest, dropping a firm kiss on her lips in greeting._

_Being president certainly had its benefits—other than the security agents stationed discreetly around the perimeter, they had the entire area to themselves._

_Peggy allowed herself a moment of indulgence as she melted into Steve’s embrace. She had sat through an endless string of meetings all day, and it had been a special kind of torture to pretend that she was more interested in discussing the minutia of a free trade agreement than pulling Steve into a closet by his tie to trace the line of his granite jaw with her lips._

_Peggy relaxed into Steve’s embrace, his large hands warm on her hip and spine. His tongue slid against hers briefly, a teasing caress, and Peggy moaned against his lips as every suppressed desire from the day flared to life._

_With a deep breath and a regretful sigh, she pulled away by a few inches—despite the illusion of privacy, the main room of a museum, surrounded by Secret Service, was not an appropriate moment to act on the heat thrumming beneath her skin. As she looked up at Steve, color high in his cheeks and hair mussed from her fingers, his expression shifted. The hot simmer of desire that she knew so well melted into a soft affection, and the intensity of emotion left Peggy feeling quite overcome. She tightened her grip around his waist and rested her head on his chest, the loud thump of his heartbeat a welcome constant beneath her ear._

_Their breathing slowly synchronized as they held each other close. She allowed herself a few more seconds to bask in how right, how_ normal _it felt to be in his arms, before she pulled away._

_“I have to say, Steve,” she said, one traitorous hand still resting on his firm chest, “I have been on plenty of dates over the years, but no man has ever brought me to look at old documents.”_

_Steve’s laugh echoed throughout the domed chamber. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear and shrugged. “What can I say? I know how to show a woman a good time.”_

_Peggy scoffed, but Steve just grinned wider. He grabbed the hand resting on his chest and tugged her toward the display cases, saying, “C’mere, Peg, you have to see this.”_

_“I have seen the Declaration of Independence before.”_

_“Not like this, you haven’t.” Steve stopped abruptly, and Peggy looked down to see the display case open in front of them._

_“What—”_

_“Touch it.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_Steve elbowed her side gently, pushing her forward. “You know you want to.”_

_Peggy looked back at him, aghast. “It’s almost two hundred fifty years old, Steve. I’ll ruin it!”_

_“I got express permission from the director of the National Archives, Peggy. It’ll survive, I promise.”_

_“Well, then, you touch it!”_

_“I already did.”_

_Peggy frowned. “You didn’t wait for me?”_

_He raised an eyebrow. “Peggy, it’s the Declaration of Independence.”_

_“Fair enough. I probably wouldn’t have waited for you either.” Peggy inched toward the display case, pretending she hadn’t heard Steve’s mock-offended gasp. She reached out and placed a single finger along the edge of the page._

_“Wow,” she breathed, speechless at the feel of history beneath her fingertip._

_“Yeah.” Steve sidled up next to Peggy, their shoulders brushing as he leaned over the open display case. “’We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,’” he read aloud, the warm tenor of his voice sending minute shivers skittering down her spine, “’That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed—’”_

_Steve let out a thoughtful sigh, and Peggy leaned her head against his shoulder. “What is it?”_

_“Nothing, I just—no matter how many times I read those words, I get goosebumps. It’s kinda dumb, but it’s a reminder of why I love this job even on the days that I hate it. Everything we do, everything we try to build, it all comes back to this. Plus,” Steve said with a distant smile, “we wouldn’t be here right now if it had never been written. Actually, if any of these hadn’t been written.” He gestured to the Constitution and Bill of Rights, sealed in their respective glass cases._

_Peggy nodded absently against his shoulder, enjoying the passion in his voice, until she processed what he had actually said. “President Rogers,” she said, deceptively calm, “I hope you are referring to our current relationship and not insinuating that we wouldn’t have democracy without the United States, because I hate to disagree with you when we’re having such a good time.”_

_“Well, umm—”_

_Peggy whirled around and poked him in the chest. “Bloody Americans, you’d take credit for the invention of the wheel if you thought you could get away with it! I will have you know that we in the United Kingdom were making advances in democracy centuries before the “City on a Hill” was a twinkle in John Winthrop’s eye. Let’s not forget the Magna Carta, signed in 1215, 550 years before the Declaration of Independence was written. Or the English Bill of Rights, written in 1689. We even had our civil war about how the UK should be governed two hundred years before yours.”_

_Steve raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to respond, but Peggy was on a roll now. “And we can’t forget the father of liberalism himself, John Locke, the philosopher whose ideas underpin every line of the Declaration of Independence. Where was he from again? Oh that’s right—he was English! And—what are you grinning at?”_

_Steve grabbed the finger jammed into his chest with a chuckle. “I love you.”_

_“What?” Peggy took a reflexive step backward, and Steve’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting those words to come out of his mouth._

_But he didn’t take them back or try to qualify them. Instead, he looked at her carefully, searching her gaze for something, though she didn’t quite know what he wanted to find. Whatever it was, I must have been missing from her expression, because he cleared his throat and turned back to the display case, fists clenched where they rested against the dais. His shoulders were raised, every line radiating tension as he shifted away from her._

_Peggy drifted back to his side, almost in a daze. His confession was_ not _what she had expected from this evening, and for the first time since they had begun this—whatever this was, she felt unsure, awkward beside him. They had a good thing, and Peggy was not eager to see it change. She liked Steve, certainly, and she always enjoyed his company. They spoke frequently on the phone or over Skype, and they shared a bed and meals and lively conversation during the rare times they were in the same place. He was terribly smart, and he always made her laugh, and he challenged her in the best way possible. He had her back, and she had his, and it was good._

_But love was complicated, and messy, and their lives were already difficult enough. This arrangement had the potential to blow up in their faces at any moment. Peggy never spent long contemplating her feelings for Steve for this very reason, because it would be so easy to let herself love him. He was a risk that she wasn’t sure she could take._

_She looked down at the parchment in front of them, her eyes catching on the line Steve had found so compelling. **The right to the pursuit of happiness**. Peggy thought about a young man and a young woman, standing together on a swaying metal bridge in the midst of a war zone. She thought about a red scarf and a first kiss that had also been a goodbye. She thought about twenty years of wondering and “what if’s” and a reunion against all odds. And she thought about the future, after her time in office was done. Stability was important, yes, but Peggy hadn’t gone into government to keep everything as it was. Her whole career—her whole life—had been about building something better, stronger, something to last._

_They stood side by side as they gazed down at the declaration of independence, hands inches and a chasm apart. Peggy took a deep breath and shifted, her hand resting over his, fingers slotting perfectly between his, like the final piece of a long-unfinished puzzle. “I love you too, Steve. More than I’ve ever loved anyone before.”_

_Steve sagged forward, his shoulders dropping in relief. He lifted their clasped hands to his lips and placed a gentle kiss against her knuckles. His voice trembled slightly as he said her name._

_“I don’t know what this means for us, Steve,” Peggy whispered. “All the issues that made this a bad idea to begin with haven’t gone away.”_

_Steve pulled her into his arms and placed his forehead against hers. “I don’t know either,” he rasped, eyes bright with joy and unshed tears, “but I wouldn’t want to find out with anyone else.”_

**“We have just received a very welcome update from our team at George Washington University Hospital.  We are pleased to report that President Rogers is awake! He isn’t completely out of the woods yet, but doctors are encouraged by his progress and expect a full recovery. Chief of Staff James Barnes, who has been at the hospital with the President since the assassination attempt, released a statement thanking the American people—and the rest of the world—for their thoughts and prayers, adding that President Rogers was touched and extremely grateful for the outpouring of support.”**

 

**_May 3 rd – 2:40 am BST_ **

The vibration of her phone against the surface of her desk startled Peggy out of her light doze. She jerked away from the loud noise, almost toppling out of her chair. She shook herself and reached for the phone, covering a large yawn with the other hand. She hadn’t really slept since James was pulled away by the doctors, choosing instead to suffer through preparation for this week’s Prime Minister’s Questions. Even though she had seen the news reports, the video of Steve collapsing to the ground outside the hotel played on a loop every time she closed her eyes, making sleep a futile endeavor at best.

She looked down to see that James was requesting a video chat, as opposed to the voice calls they had exchanged over the past few days. She accepted the call, oddly nervous at what would appear.

The face that filled her screen had never been such a welcome sight.

“Peggy.” His voice was like sandpaper, but to Peggy, it had never sounded better.

“Steve!” Peggy’s throat swelled as she looked at him—bandages wrapped around his head, skin sallow, a few days’ growth of hair on his face—and the tears she had managed to suppress over the past few days came rushing back all at once. “My darling, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“Me too, Peg,” he said, the words slurring slightly from the pain medication. “Sorry it’s so late.”

“Oh, hush. I don’t care about that. How are you feeling?”

He tried to shrug and winced as the move pulled his injured shoulder. “Like I got shot. But it isn’t the first time.”

“Well, it better be the last, Steven Grant Rogers. I was worried sick, and thousands of miles away. Never again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He managed a small smile, and Peggy’s heart faltered at the thought that she might never have seen it again. She ran a finger along the edge of the phone screen, a poor substitute for feeling his skin against her palm.

“Listen, Peggy.” He shifted in the bed and let out a soft groan at the stress on his wounds.

“Steve, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

He shook his head with a familiar, mulish expression. “I’m fine. I want to apologize, for the thing with the surveillance. I—”

Peggy shook her head and chuckled wetly. “We can talk about that later, though I can’t believe I’m actually excited to have an argument with you. For now, you just focus on healing, okay? You have a whole team for the rest of it, and I have your back.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Good. Now, Jemma was originally going to come to the US next month, but I’ll see if we can organize it so that I can come visit instead.”

Steve settled back against his pillow, his energy clearly draining. “Only if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” Peggy sniffled. “I’ll let you get some rest now, but I expect a call as soon as you feel up to it, all right?”

“Yup.”

“I love you, Steve. So much.” She gripped the phone tightly, as if her touch could transfer through the connection and hold him close as he drifted off to sleep. A fanciful notion, surely, but it was comforting to her nonetheless.

His eyes were closed, but she could see his small smile reappear. “Love you too, Peggy.”

 

**_2 months later_ **

Bucky stood right outside the door to the Oval Office, holding a cup of Steve’s favorite coffee. “Welcome back, Mr. President.”

“Thanks, Bucky. I’m glad to finally be back to work.” His limp from the bullet wound in his upper thigh was almost gone, and the residual headache from the graze to his temple had finally disappeared. He was more than ready to pick up where he had left off.

“Prime Minister Carter requested that you call her as soon as you came in today.”

“Okay, I will. Thanks.”

He strode into his office and collapsed into his desk chair. He ran a hand over the smooth surface of the desk as he looked around the room, the lack of corners a reassuring familiarity.

After taking a few minutes to reacquaint himself with the office and read over his daily schedule, he reached for the phone. He had just talked to Peggy last night, but Steve was still oddly giddy at the chance to call her from his work phone, in a (mostly) official capacity.

She picked up after three rings. And just as he heard her say his name, the entire city went dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (lol #sorrynotsorry)
> 
> This chapter is based on Season 2, Episode 8 of Scandal - "Happy Birthday, Mr. President"
> 
> The surveillance that Steve and Peggy are discussing in the first section is a reference to the Edward Snowden leaks in 2013, which revealed that the NSA was collecting surveillance and metadata on American citizens as well as foreign leaders (Miles Lydon was a minor character who was a member of the Rising Tide in the first season of AoS)
> 
> The section with the Commandos is an extension of a prompt sent to me by steggyisimmortal (you can read the first part [here](https://thesokovianaccords.tumblr.com/post/154402692991/im-watching-love-actually-and-its-making-me))
> 
>  
> 
> [The letters of last resort are a real thing. ](https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/worldviews/wp/2016/07/13/every-new-british-prime-minister-pens-a-hand-written-letter-of-last-resort-outlining-nuclear-retaliaton/)
> 
>  
> 
> I got all the information in Peggy's rant about democracy from [this wikipedia page](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_democracy#Rise_of_democracy_in_modern_national_governments)
> 
> Also, the Declaration of Independence is in really bad shape and would never be out of its climate-controlled, sealed glass case (but it's an au so I do what I want)
> 
> I'm on tumblr at thesokovianaccords, if you ever want to stop by and say hi. I have fic updates and stuff there as well.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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